THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


Greek    Dramas 


By 

^Eschylus,   Sophocles,   Euripides, 
and   Aristophanes 


With  Biographical  Notes  and  a  Critical  Introduction 
by  Bernadotte  Perrin 


NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 

D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 

1912 


Coi'VRlr.HT,    IQOO, 

Bv  D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY. 


]Yintril  in  tlic  United   Statcfl   <>f  America 


THE   GREEK    DRAMA 


FREQUENT  experiments  have  shown  that  Greek 
dramas,  in  English  version,  or  even  in  the  original 
Greek,  still  have  power  to  hold  and  impress  a  mod- 
ern English-speaking  audience.  But  these  dramas  gain 
in  power,  whether  acted  or  read,  as  hearer  or  reader  sue- 
ceeds  in  realizing  the  peculiar  conditions  under  which 
they  were  originally  produced.  And  it  is  not  enough  to 
remind  the  modern  hearer  or  reader  of  the  merely  exter- 
nal features  of  dramatic  representation  at  Athens — of  the 
vast  open-air  theatre,  the  national  audiences,  the  competi- 
tion for  state  recognition  after  state  support,  of  the  masks, 
costumes,  and  other  accessories  that  distinguish  ancient 
from  modern  dramatic  art.  The  modern  hearer  or  reader 
of  an  ancient  Greek  play  must,  above  all  else,  press  back  to 
as  full  a  realization  as  possible  of  the  religious  origin  and 
the  abiding  religious  associations  of  Greek  tragedy  and 
comedy.  Even  after  the  sense  of  the  religious  origin  and 
significance  of  the  drama  became  vague  in  the  Athenian 
mind,  the  representations  were  part  of  a  fixed  religious 
festival  of  annual  recurrence.  In  the  great  days  of  Athe- 
nian drama,  when  the  plays  included  in  this  volume  were 
first  brought  out,  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a  play  hav- 
ing a  "  run."  Indeed,  repetition  of  a  successful  play  was 
rare.  It  was  given  once  for  all,  as  a  religious  offering  at 
an  annual  religious  celebration.  The  spectator  was  more 
or  less  consciously  a  worshipper.  The  theatre  adjoined 
a  temple,  and  was  within  the  temple  precinct.  The  Ober- 
ammergau  passion-play  is  a  helpful  modern  parallel; 

iii 

2042145 


JV  THE   GREEK    DRAMA 

but  no  such  parallel  can  be  more  than  slightly  suggestive 
of  the  ancient  conditions.  To  construct  one  that  is  really 
helpful  would  require  large  play  of  imagination.  Sup- 
pose that  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  out  of  whose 
bosom,  out  of  whose  liturgy,  with  its  epic  and  choral 
elements,  the  modern  drama  sprang,  had  succeeded  in 
retaining  that  complete  control  of  the  religious  drama 
which  it  had  down  to  the  thirteenth  century,  and  that  the 
secular  drama  also  had  developed  under  such  control ; 
suppose  the  Roman  Catholic  to  be  a  state  religion  in  a 
small  but  independent  city-state  of  the  size  of  Hartford 
or  New  Haven,  the  sole  capital,  the  focus,  the  "  eye  "  of  a 
territory  smaller  than  Rhode  Island,  in  which  there  were 
more  than  a  hundred  rural  Roman  Catholic  churches,  all 
recognising  a  central  cathedral  leader  and  head  ;  suppose 
the  rural  churches  conducted  religious  plays  for  their 
respective  communities  at  annual  harvest  festivals,  and 
that  the  great  cathedral  head-church  gave  at  Christmas 
and  Easter  a  series  of  plays  by  three  poets  who  had  sur- 
passed all  competitors,  and  who  then  contended  for  first, 
second,  and  third  rank  before  immense  audiences  com- 
prising most  of  the  male  citizens  of  the  city-state  and 
many  visitors  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States — sup- 
pose all  this,  and  we  have  only  a  reasonably  adequate 
modern  parallel. 

The  Greek  drama  was  such  an  integral  part  of  the 
religion  and  cultus  of  Dionysus.  This  god  was  not  a 
genius  of  vines  and  wines  merely,  though  even  in  that 
case  the  scope  of  the  personification  would  be  no  less 
broad  and  dignified  than  that  of  Demeter.  For  the 
Greek,  the  grape  and  wine  were  just  as  truly  gifts  of  God 
as  grain  and  bread,  just  as  intimately  associated  with 
daily  and  yearly  human  toil,  weariness,  and  refreshment. 
Hut  l)i  ots  far  more  than  this.  He  is  origi- 

nally the  germinal  or  male  principle  in  universal  life,  that 
principle  which,  in  spite  of  the  universal  law  of  decay 
and  death,  keeps  the  uni\e;-e  kerning-  with  exuberant 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  V 

life.  He  is  the  Father-principle  in  the  universe,  as  De- 
meter  is  the  Mother-principle.  These  two  great  princi- 
ples, aided  by  the  principle  of  light  and  heat  personated 
in  Apollo,  wage  perpetual  warfare  against  the  principles 
of  darkness  and  death.  Death  triumphs  for  the  winter 
season,  but  Life  triumphs  in  the  great  resurrection  of 
spring.  Here  is  the  basis  for  the  exquisite  myth  of  De- 
meter  and  Persephone.  But  Dionysus  also,  as  life-prin- 
ciple, has  his  passion,  death,  and  resurrection,  and  on 
these  themes  early  Greek  folk-song  expressed  itself  in 
tones  of  sympathy,  despair,  and  triumph.  The  strains  of 
such  song  would  naturally  sweep  the  whole  range  of  hu- 
man emotion. 

According  to  Herodotus,  Dionysus  is  comparatively  a 
late  god  in  the  Hellenic  pantheon.  His  cultus  was  intro- 
duced from  the  Orient  by  way  of  Phrygia  and  Thrace. 
Like  the  life-principle  which  the  god  personated,  his 
cultus  was  aggressive,  struggling,  often  temporarily  de- 
feated, but  finally  victorious.  The  desperate  conflicts  of 
the  new  religion  with  older  religions  also  gave  themes 
for  the  choral  songs  of  its  votaries.  Homer  knows  Dio- 
nysus only  as  this  aggressive  new  religious  principle,  re- 
fused admittance  by  Lycurgus,  king  of  the  Thracian 
Edonians,  and  bringing  down  on  his  enemy  blindness  and 
death.  His  cultus  fought  its  way  from  Thrace  to  Thebes, 
and  the  awful  myth  of  Pentheus,  torn  by  his  own  mother 
in  an  ecstasy  of  the  Dionysiac  inspiration,  embodies  the 
cruelties  of  religious  war,  where  a  man's  foes  are  they  of 
his  own  household. 

As  Lord  of  Life,  subject  to  death  in  life  and  life  after 
death,  Dionysus  is  closely  associated  with  the  souls  of 
the  departed  and  their  worship  ;  with  prophecy  as  based 
on  communion  with  departed  spirits ;  with  Apollo  and 
Demeter  at  Delphi  and  Eleusis.  Under  the  name  Za- 
greus  he  is  almost  blended  with  Hades,  Lord  of  Death. 
As  great  Inspirer,  he  is -closely  associated  with  the  cultus 
of  the  Muses.  He  is,  therefore,  to  be  thought  of  as  the 


vi  THE   GREEK   DRAMA 

source  of  every  aspiration  and  inspiration,  higher  and 
lower — of  battle  rage,  madness,  joyful  song  and  dance, 
mysterious  nightly  revels,  ecstasies,  rhapsodies,  visions, 
unutterable  longings  and  fancies.  His  office  might  in  no 
irreverent  spirit  be  compared  to  that  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
in  the  belief  of  the  primitive  Christian  Church.  St. 
Paul's  first  letter  to  the  Corinthians  shows  plainly  that 
the  supposed  gifts  of  the  Spirit — prophecy,  tongues,  heal- 
ing— were  often  abused  and  allowed  to  run  into  orgiastic 
excesses. 

The  impulse  to  give  expression  to  strong  feeling  in 
song  or  dance  or  imitative  action,  or  combinations  of 
these,  is  universal.  Choral  song  and  dance  flourished 
long  among  Greek  country  people  before  city  poets  de- 
veloped and  perfected  them.  Rude  folk-songs  may  be 
heard  to-day  among  the  peasantry  or  labouring  classes  of 
all  lands.  The  choral  folk-songs  in  honour  of  Dionysus 
were  most  naturally  sung  at  the  vintage  festivals  in 
autumn,  and  one  may  hear  such  rude  vintage  songs  now 
among  the  Swabians  or  the  Bavarians.  The  Dionysiac 
vintage  hymns  were  rude,  turbulent,  passionate,  but  rich 
in  tragic  contents;  for  the  great  Giver  and  Inspirer  was 
soon  to  succumb  to  the  law  of  ever-recurring  death.  As 
in  the  Christian  mass,  so  here  in  rude  folk  version  was  an 
Incarnatus  movement,  a  Passus  et  sepultus  est.  There 
was  not  wanting  an  attendant  sacrifice  of  propitiation. 
Such  deep  themes  combined,  of  course,  with  the  lower 
excesses  naturally  attendant  on  a  popular  vintage  fes- 
tival. 

Popular  choral  hymns  to  Apollo,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  god  of  light,  warmth,  and  victory,  were  joyful,  and 
less  charged  with  deep  passion.  The  Apollinic  choral 
was  more  intellectual  and  less  emotional  than  the  Di- 
onysiac. Both  styles  of  poetry  were  especially  culti- 
vated by  the  Dorians  of  Peloponnesus.  It  was  poetry  to 
be  sung  by  masses  of  singers,  in  distinction  from  lyric  or 
epic  poetry  intended  for  solo  performers.  The  early 


THE    GREEK    DRAMA  Vll 

tyrants  therefore  favoured  it  as  a  popular  diversion. 
Court  poets  elaborated  its  structure.  Into  the  wild  and 
turbulent  measures  of  the  Dionysiac  choral  they  infused 
the  purer  and  more  intellectual  features  of  Apollinic 
song.  The  resurrection  motive  in  the  myth  was  empha- 
sized more,  and  the  literary,  as  distinguished  from  the 
folk  Dionysiac  dithyramb,  was  the  result.  This  was  a 
hymn  in  praise  of  Dionysus  for  a  trained  chorus  of  fifty 
voices,  composed  with  elaborate  responsive  structure  of 
strophe  and  antistrophe  by  a  trained  and  successful  poet 
for  the  spring  festival  of  the  god.  According  to  the  best 
Greek  tradition,  it  was  perfected  at  Corinth,  a  Dorian 
city,  toward  the  end  of  the  seventh  century  B.C.,  by 
Arion  the  Lesbian— 

"  Arion,  whose  melodic  soul 
Taught  the  dithyramb  to  roll." 

This  Dorian  origin  of  the  Dionysiac  dithyramb  accounts 
for  the  persistence  of  Doric  dialectic  forms  in  the  choral 
parts  of  Athenian  drama,  though  composed  by  Ionian 
poets.  These  dialectic  forms — broad,  long  a-sounds,  wel- 
come to  singers — can  not  be  represented  in  translation. 

Meanwhile  the  cultus  of  Dionysus  had  made  its  way 
from  Thebes  in  Bceotia  down  into  Attica,  where  the  little 
mountain  hamlet  of  Icaria  seems  to  have  been  its  first  con- 
quest— no  peaceful  conquest  either,  as  the  sad  myth  of 
Icarius  indicates.  Here  it  was  that  the  Dionysiac  dithy- 
ramb slowly  developed  into  tragedy. 

Guided  by  the  best  Greek  tradition,  and  by  careful  and 
chronological  analysis  of  extant  Greek  dramas,  one  may 
trace  the  successive  steps  in  this  remarkable  evolution 
with  reasonable  certainty.  The  Dionysiac  choral  had  from 
the  very  start,  and  always  retained,  mimetic  or  imitative 
germs — latent  drama.  And  the  evolution  of  the  drama 
of  Hellas  was  from  this  lyric  form  with  latent  drama  to 
dramatic  form  with  lingering  lyric  features.  In  other 
words,  the  choral  songs  of  a  Greek  play  are  not  musical 


viii  THE   GREEK   DRAMA 

interludes  put  between  original  dialogues,  but  the  original 
nucleus  out  of  which  the  dialogues  grew. 

Moreover,  the  origin  of  the  drama  was  distinctly  rural. 
The  city  ultimately  adopted  it  from  the  country,  but 
never  succeeded  in  refining  away  all  traces  of  this  rustic 
origin.  The  rustic  singers,  untrained  and  of  irregular 
number,  who  sang  rude  chorals  in  praise  of  Dionysus  at 
vintage  festivals,  were  from  the  start  imitative  to  a  certain 
extent,  in  that  they  assumed  the  role  of  satyrs,  or  rustic 
attendants  on  the  vegetation  genius  Dionysus.  As  satyrs 
they  wore  goat  skins,  and  were  called  tragoi ;  their  song 
tragoidia,  the  song  of  goat-skin  wearers. 

At  Icaria,  a  secluded  hill  town  halfway  between 
Athens  and  Marathon,  this  rustic  tragedy,  first  brought 
to  high  lyric  level,  no  doubt,  by  influences  from  Corinth, 
the  home  of  the  artistic  dithyramb,  budded  into  drama. 
Here  excavations  of  the  American  School  at  Athens,  con- 
ducted by  the  late  Professor  Merriam,  of  Columbia,  in 
the  spring  of  1888,  brought  to  light  sure  traces  of  an 
active  and  persistent  worship  of  Dionysus,  closely  asso- 
ciated with  dramatic  performances  under  state  support. 
"  The  scenery,"  says  Professor  Merriam,  in  his  Annual 
Report,  "  is  in  harmony  with  the  twofold  side  of  the 
worship  of  Dionysus — the  gay  and  joyous,  the  sad  and 
mournful — and  aptly  fitted  to  inspire  a  Thespis  and  a 
Susarion  to  further  advances  on  the  trodden  path."  Here 
we  may  imagine  rustic  tragedy — i.  e.,  Dionysiac  choral 
song,  becoming  more  and  more  mimetic  as  the  singers, 
impersonating  satyrs,  threw  themselves  more  and  more 
into  their  roles.  The  art  of  Dionysiac  choral  song  may 
have  become  patrial  in  the  place — handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation  in  certain  families — like  the  roles 
in  the  great  passion-play  at  Oberarrimergau..  A  local 
chorus  of  fifty  voices,  the  conventional  number  for  the 
literary  form,  would  soon  establish  a  style,  to  be  handed 
on  and  improved.  As  the  local  art  became  famous,  vis- 
itors would  be  attracted — lay  visitors  and  poets.  And 


THE   GREEK    DRAMA  ix 

so  tradition  has  it — and  good  tradition,  as  Greek  tradi- 
tion goes — that  Susarion  of  Megara,  the  father  of  Greek 
comedy,  visited  Icaria  about  the  middle  of  the  sixth 
century.  He  may  have  come  to  be  seen  and  heard,  as 
well  as  to  see  and  hear.  He  found  a  local  artist  there 
under  whose  name — and  he  is  little  more  than  a  name — 
we  place  the  two  most  important  steps  in  the  evolution 
of  the  drama  out  of  lyric  song.  This  artist  was  Thespis, 
and  the  two  great  inventions  that  justify  us  in  calling 
him  the  father  of  Greek  tragedy  were  the  rhesis  or 
recital-part,  and  the  impersonating  actor. 

Even  a  choral  song  by  fifty  voices  can  be  dramatic  as 
the  singers  lose  themselves  more  and  more  in  their  themes. 
Divide  the  chorus,  and  the  antiphonal  effect,  so  prominent 
in  the  Hebrew  psalms,  and  in  itself  so  dramatic,  is  secured. 
Let  one  of  the  choreutse  or  tragoi,  say  the  leader,  sing,  in 
recitative  solo,  the  goodness,  joys,  or  sufferings  of  Diony- 
sus, while  the  rest  of  the  chorus,  either  all  together  or  in 
groups,  respond  in  choral  song  to  these  recitals,  and  a 
dramatic  result  is  obtained  as  vivid,  certainly,  as  that 
produced  by  modern  oratorio.  Of  this  recital-role,  with 
good  reason  attributed  to  Thespis,  the  great  narrative 
roles  of  extant  Greek  drama  are  a  logical  development 
and  survival.  The  history  of  civilization  which  vEschylus 
puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  Prometheus,  the  story  of  lo's 
wanderings  in  the  same  play,  the  narratives  of  Guard  and 
Messenger  in  the  "  Antigone "  of  Sophocles,  of  Nurse 
and  Messenger  in  the  "  Medea  "  of  Euripides,  of  the  Serv- 
ants, male  and  female,  in  his  "  Alcestis,"  are  features 
due,  in  the  first  instance,  to  this  advance  of  Thespis. 

Without  further  step  a  simple  drama  is  possible.  The 
second  step,  however,  was  still  more  fruitful.  Delegating 
the  recital-role  to  a  second  member  of  the  chorus,  the 
leader  now  personated  Dionysus,  pretended  to  be  Dio- 
nysus himself,  acted  out  his  joys  and  sufferings,  while  the 
reciter  still  told  of  others,  and  the  chorus  sang  response 
to  both  actor  and  reciter.  With  one  member  of  the 


X  Till::   GREEK    DRAMA 

chorus  to  relate  thus  certain  episodes  of  joy  or  sorrow  in 
the  god's  career,  and  the  leader  of  the  chorus  to  act  out 
related  episodes,  and  with  the  dialogue  naturally  develop- 
ing between  reciter,  actor,  and  chorus,  a  definite  plot, 
with  beginning,  culmination,  and  ending,  could  readily 
have  been  presented.  And  when,  next,  both  reciter  and 
actor  assumed  two  or  more  roles,  both  dialogue  and 
action  would  be  diversified  and  enriched.  All  the  per- 
sonages of  the  Dionysiac  story  could  be  brought  into  the 
action — the  relatives,  friends,  and  foes  of  the  god — and 
dialogue  would  come  more  and  more  to  the  fore,  while 
the  lyric  parts  of  the  play  would  recede. 

Soon  the  theme  of  tragedy  was  widened  as  its  re- 
sources increased.  The  actor  passed  from  personations 
of  Dionysus  or  his  relatives,  friends,  and  foes,  to  those  of 
any  gods  or  heroes  whatever.  For  there  were  seeds  of 
drama  in  many  other  myths  and  cults  besides  those  of 
Dionysus,  and  Herodotus  tells  us  (v,  67)  of  tragic  choruses 
that  sang  the  sufferings  of  Adrastus.  This  advance  threw 
open  the  whole  domain  of  heroic  and  sacred  legend  for 
dramatic  representation,  though  the  drama's  special  rela- 
tion to  Dionysus  never  entirely  disappeared  from  popular 
consciousness,  and  the  priest  of  Dionysus  had  the  place 
of  honour  in  theatres  of  later  centuries. 

\\Y  may  fairly  suppose  that  the  visit  of  Susarion  to 
It  aria  quickened  the  invention  of  Thespis.  As  a  result  of 
his  improvements  in  the  local  Icarian  drama,  it  attracted 
the  notice  of  artists  and  statesmen  at  Athens.  Solon  is 
said  to  have  gone  to  see  Thespis  acting  in  his  own  play, 
and  Pisistratus  the  tyrant,  anxious  to  enrich  the  literary 
atmosphere  of  his  court  at  Athens,  induced  him  to  bring 
his  dramas  for  representation  to  the  city.  Here  they 
secured  state  patronage,  and  the  Parian  Marble  assigns 
the  first  competitive  victory  of  Thespis  to  the  year  536 
i-.  C.  One  of  the  four  titles  of  plays  thus  brought  out  at 
Athens  by  Thespis  was  "  Pentheus,"  wherein  the  story 
of  Dionysus  was  still  material  for  tragic  plot,  but  other 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  xi 

titles  betoken  that  emancipation  from  purely  Dionysiac 
themes  alluded  to  above.  At  last  the  drama  is  a  promi- 
nent part  of  a  brilliant  city's  great  annual  festivals. 

To  trace  the  growth  of  the  Greek  drama  further  does 
not  require  so  much  imagination,  for  tradition  becomes 
surer,  and  authentic  titles  of  plays  presented  more  numer- 
ous and  suggestive.  No  play  of  Phrynichus,  the  successor 
of  Thespis,  has  come  down  to  us,  but  he  is  said  to  have 
written  nine  tragedies,  and  among  them  an  "  Alcestis." 
Of  course  competition,  in  the  careers  of  Thespis  and 
Phrynichus,  means  that  they  had  rivals,  and  sometimes 
victorious  rivals.  But  for  purposes  of  brief  introduction 
only  the  greater  names  and  surer  traditions  need  to  be 
reviewed.  Phrynichus  worked  with  the  dramatic  appa- 
ratus that  he  inherited  from  Thespis,  though  sundry  in- 
novations are  ascribed  to  him,  such  as  the  female  part 
carried  by  male  singers  or  actors.  In  the  nature  of 
things,  the  dialogue  was  continually  developing  at  the 
expense  of  the  choral  parts,  and  yet  the  lyric  songs  of 
Phrynichus  are  extolled  almost  beyond  measure  by  so 
great  a  master  of  song  as  Aristophanes.  They  were  the 
elderly  Athenian's  favourites  even  after  a  Sophocles  had 
arisen. 

But  the  most  startling  innovation  made  by  Phrynichus 
was  his  selection  of  recent  historical  events  for  dramatiza- 
tion. His  first  dramatic  victory  is  set  at  512  B.  c,  and  no 
later  than  494  the  great  city  of  Miletus — daughter  city  of 
Athens,  according  to  tradition,  and  encouraged  by  her 
to  withstand  the  Persian  might — was  abandoned  to  an 
awful  destruction.  "  The  Athenians,"  says  Herodotus 
(vi,  21),  "showed  themselves  beyond  measure  afflicted  at 
the  fall  of  Miletus,  in  many  ways  expressing  their  sym- 
pathy, and  especially  by  their  treatment  of  Phrynichus. 
For  when  this  poet  brought  out  his  drama  of  the  capture 
of  Miletus,  the  whole  theatre  burst  into  tears,  and  the 
people  sentenced  him  to  pay  a  fine  of  a  thousand  drachmas 
for  recalling  to  them  their  own  misfortunes.  They  like- 


xii  THE    GREEK    DRAMA 

wise  made  a  law  that  no  one  should  ever  again  exhibit 
that  piece."  Whatever  the  aesthetic  bearing  and  value  of 
this  famous  sentence,  it  is  clear  that  Phrynichus  changed 
his  method  of  handling  contemporary  history,  if  we  may 
trust  an  item  of  dramatic  information  preserved  by  Plu- 
tarch in  his  "  Themistocles."  Four  years  after  the  glo- 
rious victory  of  Salamis,  Themistocles  defrayed  the  ex- 
penses of  representing  a  play  of  Phrynichus.  This  play 
was  probably  the  "  Phoenician  Women,"  and  its  theme 
was  the  victory  of  Salamis,  for  which  Themistocles  won 
the  greatest  credit.  The  title  shows  the  composition  of 
the  chorus  of  the  play,  and  that  makes  it  plain  that  the 
scene  was  transferred  to  the  enemy's  country,  where  the 
necessary  idealization  could  be  better  secured,  and  that 
the  grief  of  the  enemy  was  depicted  in  order  to  enhance 
the  triumph  of  the  victor.  An  inspiring  instead  of  a 
rebuking  theme,  an  ideal  instead  of  a  familiar  scene,  made 
the  play  a  success — so  much  of  a  success  that  JEschylus, 
the  great  follower  of  Phrynichus,  tried  to  secure  for  his 
favourite  Aristides  a  larger  credit  for  Salamis  than  the 
popularitv  of  Themistocles  allowed.  This  correction  of 
popular  sentiment  ^Eschylus  attempted  in  his  "  Persians," 
which  celebrated  Salamis,  and  was  brought  out  in  472. 
To  make  the  story  of  dramatic  and  political  rivalry  com- 
plete, Aristides  should  have  defrayed  the  expenses  of  this 
controversial  play  of  YEschylus ;  but  so  attractive  a  con- 
clusion has  no  definite  authority,  though  Plutarch  plainly 
shows,  in  the  opening  chapter  of  his  "Aristides,"  that 
there  was  plenty  of  dubious  tradition  about  plays  pro- 
duced at  the  charges  of  that  ardent  rival  of  Themistocles. 
innately,  the  "  Persians"  has  come  down  to  us,  and 
a  brief  description  of  its  action  and  structure  will  best 
\v  the  development  now  reached  by  the  drama,  and 
•  serve  as  a  transition  to  the  briefer  account  of  the 
of  the  four  Greek  dramatists  of  whose  work  we 
have  entire  specimens— briefer,  because  the  specimens  tell 
their  own  story.  The  play  wa<  Lpven  by  two  actors,  and 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  xiii 

a  chorus  with  its  leader  or  representative.  One  of  the 
two  actors  took  the  parts  of  Atossa,  widowed  queen- 
mother  of  Xerxes,  and  also  of  Xerxes,  for  mother  and 
son  are  not  brought  together  in  the  action ;  the  other 
actor  took  the  parts  of  the  messenger,  and  of  the  Darius- 
ghost.  The  scene  is  in  front  of  the  royal  palace  at  Susa, 
the  tomb  of  Darius  being  in  the  foreground.  The  action, 
to  give  the  barest  outline,  moves  as  follows:  Enter  chorus 
of  Persian  elders,  singing  their  anxious  solicitude  for  the 
great  hosts  of  Xerxes  in  their  distant  campaign;  enter 
Atossa,  who  shares  her  own  forebodings  of  disaster  with 
the  chorus,  till  both  are  overwhelmed  by  the  announce- 
ment of  an  in-rushing  messenger  that  the  whole  Persian 
host  has  perished;  choral  lamentations  at  the  messenger's 
brief  announcements;  Atossa  hears  the  detailed  story  of 
the  messenger  (description  of  Salamis) ;  choral  hymn  of 
lament;  Atossa  invokes  with  offerings  the  spirit  of  Darius, 
the  chorus  joining  with  an  invocation  hymn  ;  the  ghost 
of  Darius  appears  with  rebukes  for  Persian  pride  and 
prophecies  of  further  disaster  (Platsea) ;  choral  lament ; 
enter  Xerxes,  a  fugitive,  who  with  the  chorus  respon- 
sively  bewails  his  doom,  and  is  at  last  escorted  into  the 
palace,  where  Atossa  had  gone  after  the  vision  of  Darius. 
With  this  simple  scheme,  all  the  swelling  exultations  over 
Marathon,  Salamis,  and  Plataea  are  given  voice,  and  in  the 
long  description  of  the  battle  of  Salamis,  where  Jischylus 
was  an  eyewitness,  Aristides  is  given  his  due  meed  of 
praise. 

The  play  is,  of  course,  full  of  wars  and  fightings,  as  is 
even  to  greater  degree  the  same  poet's  "  Seven  against 
Thebes,"  which,  as  Aristophanes  testifies,  made  every 
hearer  long  to  go  out  to  battle.  ^Eschylus  is  a  warrior 
poet,  Miltonic  in  style,  Cromwellian  in  military  spirit. 
His  first  dramatic  victory  falls  in  485,  halfway  between 
Marathon  and  Salamis,  at  both  of  which  he  fought.  His 
life,  from  525  to  456  15.  c.,  covers  the  militant  upward 
career  of  Athens,  and  has  no  lessons  of  defeat  and  hu- 


xiv  THE    GREEK    DRAMA 

miliation,  except  as  he  saw  political  principles  \vhich  he 
disliked  coming  into  control,  and  the  dramatic  tastes  of 
the  city  where  he  had  been  easily  supreme  inclining 
toward  the  new  ideals  of  a  younger  rival  in  the  field. 

A  dramatic  defeat  by  Sophocles  may  have  disap- 
pointed .Eschylus,  but  need  not  have  embittered  him, 
in  spite  of  the  romantic  story  given  by  Plutarch  in  his 
"Cimon."  It  was  the  national  fame  of  ./Eschylus  that 
took  him  to  the  brilliant  courts  of  Sicily,  from  which 
he  returned  to  Athens  to  vanquish  Sophocles  with  his 
incomparable  Orestes  plays,  whither  he  returned  again, 
and  where,  as  fate  would  have  it,  he  died. 

The  "Prometheus  Bound ''was  perhaps  brought  oul 
in  Athens  shortly  after  the  poet's  return  from  Sicily, 
while  the  impressions  of  an  eruption  of  Mount  ^Etna 
were  still  fresh  in  men's  minds  (page  18).  Only  two 
actors  were  at  this  time  assigned  by  the  state,  and  the 
play  conforms  to  this  restriction  in  a  manner  that  makes 
one  forget  the  restriction  entirely.  The  first  actor  took 
the  parts  of  Hephrestus  and  Prometheus,  the  silent  Titan 
being  represented  by  a  huge  effigy  during  the  first  part 
of  the  prologue,  and  the  second  actor  the  parts  of  Kratos 
(Strength),  Oceanus,  lo,  and  Hermes,  the  choral  songs. 
giving  this  apparently  overburdened  adtor  time  for  rest 
and  change  of  costumes.  The  chorus  of  twelve  Ocean 
nymphs  makes  a  most  spectacular  entry  in  their  winged 
car,  as  does  their  Father  Oceanus  on  his  winged  quadru- 
ped. The  scene  is  laid  among  desolate  cliffs  of  Scythia, 
and  after  the  narrative  and  prophecy  of  Prometheus 
have  carried  the  imagination  of  the  audience  through 
the  manifold  fascinations  of  unknown  geographies,  the 
plav  closes  with  a  convulsion  of  nature.  Its  theme  is 
sublime — the  conflict  between  a  noble  but  short-sighted 
beneficence,  and  a  beneficence  that  is  omniscient  and  in 
MIC  with  destiny.  The  disastrous  conflict  alone  is 
in  this  play,  the  reconciliation  bv  atonement 
in  the  play  that  followed,  the  "  Prometheus  Loosed,"  of 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  XV 

which  only  significant  fragments  arc  preserved,  and  the 
glorious  reward  of  suffering  after  penitence  in  the  final 
play  of  the  trilogy,  the  "  Prometheus  Fire-bearer."  Of 
this  play  hardly  more  than  the  name  has  reached  us,  but 
we  imagine  it  to  have  been  a  great  cultus-drama,  like  the 
extant  "  Eumenides."  Still  a  fourth  play  followed  imme- 
diately in  the  original  representation,  a  satyr-play,  prob- 
ably some  grotesque  mythical  farce.  In  such  groups  of 
four  were  the  dramas  of  yEschylus  presented,  organic 
tetralogies,  four  dramatic  chapters  ^of  a  single  myth. 

Sophocles  also  presented  his  tragedies  in  groups  of 
four,  but  freed  himself  from  the  restriction  of  a  single 
myth  for  all.  Each  play  was  independent  of  the  other 
three.  The  tetralogy  was  inorganic.  Hence  each  play 
of  Sophocles  is  larger  and  more  complete  in  its  unity 
than  any  single  play  of  Jischylus.  His  resources,  too, 
were  increased  by  the  state.  He  had  three  actors  at 
his  disposition,  at  least  in  all  his  plays  that  have  come 
down  to  us.  This  made  it  possible  for  him  to  enrich  his 
characterizations,  enliven  his  dialogues,  and  quicken  his 
action.  It  is  thus  we  get  such  delicate  character-foils  as 
Ismene  to  Antigone,  Chrysothemis  to  Electra,  with  ini- 
tial stages  of  a  secondary  plot.  The  state  also  enlarged 
the  chorus  for  Sophocles  to  fifteen,  a  decided  gain  in 
musical  and  spectacular  resources.  All  these  resources 
yEschylus  also  enjoyed  in  his  later  contests  with  his 
rivals,  but  he  was  unable  to  emancipate  himself  from 
the  influences  of  the  old  restrictions. 

Sophocles  is  the  poet-laureate  of  the  Athenian  empire, 
of  the  golden  Periclean  age.  He  celebrated  Salamis  as  a 
youth  of  sixteen  and  died  two  years  before  the  fall  of 
Athens.  We  get  distinct  glimpses  of  his  pre-eminence 
in  physical  vigour  and  beauty,  in  wealth  and  culture,  in 
state  finance,  diplomacy,  and  legislation  ;  while  the  rec- 
ord of  his  dramatic  victories  is  long — almost  unbroken. 
At  his  death  a  contemporary  comic  poet — -and  the  comic 
poets  spared  not  Pericles — passed  this  encomium  on  him  : 


xvi  THE   GREEK   DRAMA 

"  Blessed  Sophocles !  He  lived  out  a  long  life,  a  prosper- 
ous, fortunate,  and  gifted  man  ;  he  wrote  many  beautiful 
tragedies,  he  died  a  beautiful  death,  and  he  never  had  a 
sorrow."  From  a  career  so  rich  and  tranquil  we  may 
well  expect  to  get  a  rich  and  tranquil,  well-poised  art, 
and  we  are  not  disappointed.  His  themes  may  not  be  so 
grand,  nor  his  diction  so  grandiose,  as  those  of  ^Eschylus; 
but  he  brings  the  great  heroic  strifes  and  figures  down 
from  a  superhuman  to  a  beautifully  idealized  human  level. 
"  The  impression  of  unity  conveyed  by  one  of  his  plays  is 
prodigious.  Probably  no  other  dramatist  in  any  age  has 
been  able  to  move  a  tragedy  forward  with  such  unswerv- 
ing ethical  relentlessness." 

As  in  the  still  greater  tragedy  of  "  CEdipus  the  King  " 
its  author  is  not  to  be  held  accountable  for  the  savage 
and  bloody  features  of  the  myth,  so  in  the  "  Antigone." 
It  is  a  myth  crowded  with  ghastly  features.  "  Its  hor- 
rors reach  their  height  in  the  special  subject  of  the  pres- 
ent play,  the  indignities  offered  to  a  dead  body."  But 
back  of  all  gruesome  detail,  the  sure  mark  of  popular 
legend,  lies  the  constant  human  element,  the  struggle 
between  the  higher  and  the  lower  impulses  of  the  indi- 
vidual human  soul.  For  Antigone  the  question  is  :  Shall 
I  allow  the  lower  impulses  of  retributive  vengeance,  even 
when  sanctioned  by  the  formal  authority  of  the  state,  to 
triumph  over  the  higher  impulses  of  brotherly  love,  im- 
planted in  the  soul  by  Heaven  ?  She  answers  in  the  nobler 
wav,  and  pays  her  life  for  the  privilege. 

From  the  playwright's  point  of  view  the  play  differs 
from  the  "  Prometheus  "  ,not  only  in  its  deeper  psychol- 
ogy, its  im:n  use  in  action  and  vivacious  dialogue,  its 
greater  subordination  of  the  epic  and  lyric  elements,  but 
also  in  its  greatest  oratorical  feature,  the  forensic  scene — 
the  high  debate  on  the  issue  at  stake  between  father  and 
son,  king  and  lover.  This  marks  the  advent  of  an  ele- 
ment of  public  debate  in  public  life,  which  was  unknown 
in  the  career  ol  A:.<i  hvlus.  In  just  so  far  as  the  poet 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  xvii 

allows  his  work  to  mirror  the  peculiar  and  transitory  fea- 
tures of  the  life  of  his  day  he  ceases  to  be  the  perfect 
artist  for  all  times,  though  he  has  "  brought  the  afflictive 
and  fatalistic  elements  of  the  story  into  such  exquisite 
balance  with  the  heroic  and  intentional  as  most  fully  to 
hold  the  reader's  interest,  admiration,  and  awe." 

The  plays  of  Euripides  are  much  more  a  reflex  of  the 
spiritual,  social,  and  political  upheavals  and  perplexities 
of  his  generation,  a  generation  later  than  that  of  Sopho- 
cles, although  much  of  their  lives  coincided.  Sophocles 
represents  the  poise  and  full  glory  of  Athenian  power 
and  culture;  Euripides  their  disintegration  and  confusion. 
Himself  a  restless,  introspective,  unhappy,  but  fearlessly 
inquiring  spirit,  his  plays  reflect  the  unrest  and  the  fore- 
bodings of  a  changing  order  of  things.  For  this  reason 
he  comes  nearer  to  the  modern  heart  than  either  of  his 
great  predecessors  —  "Euripides  the  Human,  with  his 
droppings  of  warm  tears."  He  has  infused  into  the  old 
mythical  framework  of  his  dramas  the  hot,  human  pas- 
sions of  himself  and  his  fellow-men,  with  no  shielding 
cloak  of  idealism.  An  ancient  verdict  clearly  declares 
that  the  heroes  and  heroines  of  Sophocles  are  men  and 
women  as  they  should  be  ;  those  of  Euripides,  men  and 
women  as  they  are. 

His  "  Medea  "  conforms  in  story  and  in  construction 
to  tradition,  but  the  jealous  wife  in  this  "  Medea,"  to 
which  she  sacrifices  mother  love,  and  the  mother  love 
that  struggles  with  jealousy,  are  no  more  Athenian  than 
English,  no  more  Asiatic  than  Athenian.  Mother  love 
succumbs  in  "  Medea,"  but  wife  love  triumphs  over 
mother  love  and  death  in  the  "  Alcestis,"  "  that  strangest, 
saddest,  sweetest  song  of  his."  Self-sacrifice  submits  to 
death  to  save  selfishness  (Admetus);  selfishness  is  con- 
verted by  this  death,  and  then  self  sacrifice  is  restored  to 
life  by  the  great  self-sacrificer  (Heracles),  and  bestowed 
once  more  upon  converted  selfishness.  As  Euripides  in- 
fused into  the  skeleton  of  the  old  legend  all  the  warmth 


xviii  THE   GREEK    DRAMA 

and  pathos  of  the  lives  of  loving  women  and  selfish  men 
about  him,  so  Browning  infuses  into  the  drama  of  Eurip- 
ides the  richer  warmth  and  deeper  pathos  of  modern 
lives.  His  paraphrase  of  the  "  Alcestis,"  in  "  Balaustion's 
Adventure,"  is  shining  testimony  to  the  increasing  dig- 
nity  and  depth  of  human  life. 

All  these  great  plays  are  constructed  on  this  general 
scheme:  I.  Prologue;  II.  Chorus  Entry;  III.  Episode 
(dialogue);  IV.  Choral  Song;  V.  Episode;  VI.  Choral 
Song;  VII.  Episode;  VIII.  Choral  Song;  IX.  Exodus. 
There  may  be  slight  variations  in  the  number  of  the  di- 
visions, the  lyric  element  may  be  increased  by  duetts  be- 
tween actor  and  chorus,  or  by  solos  from  the  actors,  but 
the  general  scheme  remains  the  same,  the  very  nomen- 
clature testifying  to  the  original  predominance  of  the 
chorus. 

In  this  original  choral  element  there  was  much  mim- 
icry and  mummery.  There  were  also  excesses  in  the 
original  rustic  worship  of  Dionysus,  which  found  repre- 
sentation in  the  satyr-play  or  farce  that  once  closed  the 
tetralogy.  As  the  satyr-play  disappears  from  the  tragic 
tetralogy,  we  find  comedy  coming  into  prominence,  and 
at  last,  long  after  its  elder  sister,  receiving  state  support. 
It  had  remained  a  country  festival  of  the  vintage  long 
after  tragedy  had  been  made  a  city  rite.  It  slowly  con- 
quered its  way  up  to  state  recognition  as  it  took  on  more 
and  more  artistic  form.  And  it  was  the  form  of  the 
reigning  tragedy,  naturally,  which  imposed  itself  on  the 
somewhat  chaotic  materials  for  artistic  comedy  that  were 
latent  in  every  vintage  festival  all  over  Hellas,  though  a 
more  distinct  impulse  toward  artistic  form  seems  to  have 
come  from  Sicily.  So  much  Aristotle  knew,  but  not  who 
gave  comedy  its  distinct  artistic  being.  Before  men  were 
aware  of  her  claim  to  distinct  and  beautiful  personality, 
Thalia  stood  full  grown  by  the  side  of  grave  Melpomene. 

About  460  B.  c.  comedy  had  jts  first  chorus  assigned  it 
by  the  state,  and  the  years  460-430  knew  the  work  of  the 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  xix 

comic  artists  who  made  Aristophanes  possible.  He  him- 
self gives  us  their  names  and  artistic  traits  and  poetic 
careers  in  the  marvellous  "  parabasis  "  of  the  "  Knights." 
The  parabasis  is  the  dramatic  feature  that  most  distin- 
guishes comedy  from  tragedy.  The  rest  of  a  comedy  of 
Aristophanes — and  we  must  judge  of  old  Athenian  com- 
edy almost  solely  by  him — can  easily  be  brought  under 
the  prevalent  form  of  tragedy.  The  choral  parts  are 
more  freely  distributed,  and  are,  of  course,  in  lighter  vein, 
often  in  the  lightest  vein  of  personal  satire  or  jolly  con- 
ceit ;  but  the  ruling  form,  after  all,  is  :  Prologue,  chorus, 
episode,  chorus,  alternating  episodes  and  choruses,  exo- 
dus. The  material  of  the  dialogue  is  an  indiscriminate 
blending  of  caricature,  personal  satire,  broad  farce,  and 
genuine  character-comedy,  though  the  last  element  is 
scarce.  Athens  was  a  great  city,  but  a  city-state,  and 
a  city  where  everybody  knew  everybody  else.  Com- 
edy dramatized  that  city's  morals,  politics,  arts,  and  let- 
ters. Comedies  were  political  and  social  pamphlets,  al- 
ways in  opposition  to  the  new  because  it  was  new,  and 
always  giving  full  contrasts  between  old  and  new ; 
whence  the  value  of  these  comedies  for  the  study  of  the 
life  of  their  day. 

But  the  parabasis  is  so  distinct  a  feature  of  the  old 
Athenian  comedy  that  it  needs  to  be  fully  described  and 
understood.  In  its  performance  all  dramatic  illusion  is 
boldly  abandoned  or  deftly  played  with,  and  yet  in  its 
formal  structure  the  original  germs  from  which  the  whole 
organism  of  the  comedy  grew  are  plainly  to  be  seen. 
The  parabasis  of  the  "Clouds"  lacks  one  of  the  seven 
technical  divisions  that  go  to  make  up  the  full  structure 
as  elsewhere  seen,  but  otherwise  it  is  an  admirable  speci- 
men of  its  kind.  After  the  actors  have  been  carefully 
taken  from  the  scene  by  the  natural  progress  of  the 
action,  the  coryphaeus  or  leader  of  the  chorus  of  twenty- 
four  female  shapes,  fantastically  draped  to  represent 
clouds,  chants  an  accompaniment  to  their  departure, 


XX  THE   GREEK   DRAMA 

wishing  them  success  in  their  undertaking  (p.  312,  1.  15- 
18).  This  division  is  called  the  Kommation.  Then,  the 
chorus  wheeling  about  and  advancing  to  face  the  audi- 
ence, whence  the  name  parabasis,  the  coryphaeus  chants 
what  may  be  called  the  Poet's  Manifesto  (p.  312,  1.  2o-p. 
313,  1.  32).  The  poet  himself  was  the  coryphaeus.  He 
complains  bitterly  of  the  audience  because  when  the 
"  Clouds  "  was  presented  first  they  did  not  award  it  the 
first  prize.  He  now  presents  it  in  an  improved  shape, 
and  counts  on  its  complete  success.  This  division  is 
technically  named  the  Parabasis  (proper),  and  usually 
ends  in  a  series  of  short  verses  to  be  recited  all  in  one 
breath,  the  Pnigos,  or  choker-passage,  omitted  here  for 
metrical  reasons.  The  thought  never  is  specialized  in 
it.  It  is  merely  a  bit  of  metrical  and  elocutional  farce. 
Then  the  chorus  unite  in  singing  a  lyric  invocation  to 
sundry  gods — Zeus,  Poseidon,  and,  very  appropriately 
for  clouds,  ^Ether  and  Helios  (air  and  sun).  This  is 
technically  the  Ode,  a  relic  of  the  original  choral  song, 
from  which  both  tragedy  and  comedy  sprang  (p.  313,  1. 
33-37).  Then  follows,  chanted  or  recited  by  the  cory- 
phasus,  the  Epirrhcnia,  or  Address,  a  manifesto  of  the 
chorus  as  such — i.  e.,  as  clouds,  directed  at  the  audience. 
The  Athenians  make  bad  return  for  the  kindly  attentions 
of  the  clouds  to  them,  since  they  have  elected  the  rascally 
Cleon  to  military  office  (p.  314,  1.  3-24).  Then  the  Re- 
sponsive Ode  (p.  314,  1.  25-32)  is  sung  by  the  united  cho- 
rus, invoking  Apollo,  Artemis,  Athena,  and  Dionysus  to 
come  to  the  great  dramatic  function,  once  a  purely  re- 
ligious service.  Last  comes  the  Responsive  Address,  the 
AntcpirrJieina,  a  second  manifesto  of  the  Clouds  as  such 
(p.  314, 1.  33-p.  315, 1.  17).  The  Clouds  bring  an  aggrieved 
message  to  the  Athenians  from  the  Moon,  who  met  them 
as  they  were  getting  ready  to  go  to  Athens.  She  says 
the  Athenian  calendar  is  all  topsy-turvy. 

After  this  singular  mixture  of  personal   appeal,  reli- 
gious song,  political    and    social    protest   and  satire,  the 


THE   GREEK   DRAMA  xxi 

actors  reappear  and  the  burlesque  resumes  its  sway.  It 
is  surely  a  high  tribute  to  the  artistic  sense  of  the  Athe- 
nian public  that  the  rude,  comic  elements  of  cultus  hymn 
and  travelling  gibe  and  satire  should  have  to  assume 
such  elaborate  structural  dress  as  this  in  order  to  win 
public  support  and  favour.  It  is  perhaps  also  a  tribute 
to  the  keen  discernment  of  the  same  public  that  it  refused 
to  confound  Socrates  with  the  common  run  of  formal 
rhetoricians  or  Sophists,  as  Aristophanes  wilfully  or  ig- 
norantly  did  in  his  coarse  caricature  of  the  great  teacher ; 
at  least  the  comedy  in  which  he  did  so,  by  its  failure, 
broke  the  poet's  long  line  of  brilliant  successes,  and 
apparently  almost  broke'  the  poet's  heart. 

As  the  choral  hymns  of  tragedy  by  their  relative 
prominence  are  a  sure  index  of  the  age  of  the  play,  so  is 
the  parabasis  in  comedy.  A  complete  parabasis  in  the 
first  part  of  the  play,  and  a  short  parabasis  in  the  second 
part,  mark  the  earlier  work  of  the  poet ;  a  single  para- 
basis, even  incomplete,  his  later  manner  ;  and  the  absence 
of  any  parabasis  at  all  his  latest.  And  his  latest  manner, 
represented  by  the  "  Plutus,"  is  an  entirely  new  manner. 
The  Athens  of  388  B.  c.  is  no  longer  an  imperial  centre, 
but,  politically,  a  provincial  city.  Character-types  take 
the  place  of  flesh-and-blood  politicians ;  social  evils  the 
place  of  great  national  policies.  It  is  wealth  now,  not 
imperial  sway,  which  needs  fresh  allotment  under  the 
comic  lash.  The  comedy  of  character-types,  Middle 
Comedy  as  it  is  called  for  convenience,  soon  and  readily 
passes  into  New  Comedy,  the  comedy  of  manners.  But 
in  the  Greek  original  time  has  spared  us  complete  speci- 
mens only  of  Old  and  Middle  Comedy. 

For  all  the  plays  here  presented  no  stage  was  needed. 
That,  with  permanent  stone  theatre  and  stage  structures, 
came  in  far  later  times.  Actors  issue  from  a  typical  struc- 
ture or  scene,  temporarily  brought  to  adjoin  the  circular 
orchestra,  into  the  orchestra  itself,  where  they  mingle 
freely  with  the  chorus,  and  where  the  coryphaeus  takes 


xxii  THE   GREEK   DRAMA 

part  in  the  action.  The  chorus  and  actors,  as  circum- 
stances require,  enter  and  leave  the  orchestra  by  pas- 
sages on  either  side  the  central  scene.  The  orchestra  is 
almost  surrounded  by  the  rising  tiers  of  rude  and  tem- 
porary seats  for  the  spectators. 

BERNADOTTE  PERRIN. 


CONTENTS 

THE  PROMETHEUS  BOUND  OF  ^SCHYLUS  PAGE 

Translated  by  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning I 

THE  AGAMEMNON  OF  V£SCHYLUS 

Translated  by  Robert  Potter 45 

THE  ANTIGONE  OF  SOPHOCLES 

Translated  by  Richard  Claverhouse  Jebb 101 

THE  CEoipus  TYRANNUS  OF  SOPHOCLES 

Translated  by  Thomas  Francklin         ......     141 

THE  ALCESTIS  OF  EURIPIDES 

Translated  by  Arthur  S.  Way 195 

THE  MEDEA  OF  EURIPIDES 

Translated  by  Arthur  S.  Way 239 

THE  CLOUDS  OF  ARISTOPHANES 

Translated  by  William  James  Hickie  ......     291 

THE  PLUTUS  OF  ARISTOPHANES 

Translated  by  William  James  Hickie 345 

xxiii 


THE  PROMETHEUS  BOUND 
OF  AESCHYLUS 

TRANST.ATKD    BY 

ELIZABETH    BARRETT    BROWNING 


s,   the  first  in   time  and  strength   of  the   three  great  Greek 

tragedians,  was  born  in  Eleusis,  Attica,  in  525  B.C.  His  father,  Kupho- 
rion,  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  priest  in  the  old  temple  of  Demeter, 
which  was  destroyed  by  tiie  Persians.  4,^4  B.C.;  and  the  son  was  undoubt- 
edly an  initiate  into  t:ie  famous  mysteries  of  his  native  town,  and  was 
accused  before  the  council  of  the  Areopagus  (4(0  n.  C.),  according  to  some 
authorities,  for  having  revealed  them  in  one  of  his  plays.  The  latter 
part  of  his  life  was  lived  in  the  stirring  days  of  the  Persian  wars,  and 
when  thirty-live  years  old  he  lought  with  distinction  and  uas  wounded 
at  the  battle  of  Marathon.  He  was  also  at  Salamis  and  Platea,  ami 
appears  himself  to  have  been  prouder  of  his  record  as  a  soldier  than  of 
his  reputation  as  a  writer.  Fable  relates  that  when  /Kschylus  wa^  a  boy 
he  fell  asleep  while  watching  a  vineyard,  and  Dionysus  came  to  him  in 
a  dream  and  told  him  to  write  tragedy.  He  awoke  and  wrote  his  first 
verses.  1  L-  was  twenty-live  years  old  when  he  made  his  first  appearance 
as  a  writer  of  tragedy  at  Athens;  but  it  was  not  until  he  was  forty-one 
that  he  stood  tirst  in  the  competition.  He  wrote  more  than  seventy  plays, 
u  of  which  have  come  down  I:)  us  in  their  entirety:  "The  Suppli- 
cants," "The  Persians,"  "The  Seven  against  Thebes,"  "Prometheus 
Hound,"  and  the  trilogy  known  as  the  "Oresteia,"  including  "Agamem- 
non,  I'he  C'hoephori,"  and  "The  Eumenides."  He  was  fifty-three 

when  he  produced  the  trilogy  of  which  "The  Persians"  was  the  first 
member  and  is  the  only  surviving  one.  It  is  probably  also  the  earliest 
of  his  works  that  we  possess.  In  468  \t.  C.  he  was  defeated  in  the  compe- 
tition by  his  young  rival,  Sophocles.  Soon  afterward,  cither  from  chagrin 
at  this  defeat  or  under  banishment  by  the  Areopagus,  he  went  to  tin- 
court  of  Hiero  of  Syracuse,  where  he  again  pioduced  "The  Persians." 
In  407  it.  C,  Hiero  died,  and  nine  years  later  .T.schylus  returned  to  Athens 
to  put  the  "Oie^teia"  on  the  stage.  An  unpopular  chorus  in  "  The 
Eumenides'1  again  forced  him  to  leave  Athens,  to  die,  two  years  after- 
ward (45j>  B.C.),  at  (iela.  in  Sicily.  An  oracle  had  foretold  that  .-Kschylus 
should  die  by  a  blow  from  heaven,  and  the  prediction  was  in  a  manner 
fulfilled  by  the  w.iy  in  which  he  met  his  death.  An  eagle,  wishing  to 
crack  the  shell  of  a  tortoise,  carried  it  high  in  the  air,  and  mistaking  the 
bald  head  of  the  poet  for  a  stone,  dropped  it  upon  that.  .Kschylus  wrote 
three  tragedies  on  the  subject  of  Prometheus  ;  the  first  pictured  him 
carrying  the  gift  of  fire  to  men  ;  the  second  chained  to  Caucasus  ;  the 
third  delivered  from  his  chains.  The  second  is  the  only  one  that  has 
survived.  Many  translations  of  "  Prometheus  Hound"  have  been  made. 
Mrs.  Hrowning's  is  the  best,  being  a  great  English  poem  as  well  as  a 
translation  of  a  great  drcck  tragedy. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


PROMETHEUS. 

OCEANUS. 

HERMES. 

HEPHAESTUS. 

STRENGTH  and  FORCE. 

lo,  daughter  of  Inachus. 

CHORUS  of  Ocean  Nymphs. 

SCENE— AT  THE  ROCKS 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND 


STRENGTH  and  FORCE,  HEPHAESTUS  and  PROMETHEUS 

STRENGTH.    We   reach   the   utmost    limit   of    the 
earth— 
The  Scythian  track,  the  desert  without  man. 
And  now,  Hephaestus,  thou  must  needs  fulfil 
The  mandate  of  our  Father,  and  with  links 
Indissoluble  of  adamantine  chains 
Fasten  against  this  beetling  precipice 
This  guilty  god.     Because  he  filched  away 
Thine  own  bright  flower,  the  glory  of  plastic  fire, 
And  gifted  mortals  with  it — su'ch  a  sin 
It  doth  behoove  he  expiate  to  the  gods, 
Learning  to  accept  the  empery  of  Zeus, 
And  leave  off  his  old  trick  of  loving  man. 

Hepliastus.  O  Strength  and  Force,  for  you  our  Zeus's 

will 

Presents  a  deed  for  doing,  no  more ! — But  I, 
I  lack  your  daring,  up  this  storm-rent  chasm 
To  fix  with  violent  hands  a  kindred  god, 
Howbeit  necessity  compels  me  so 
That  I  must  dare  it,  and  our  Zeus  commands 
With  a  most  inevitable  word.     Ho,  thou  ! 
High-thoughted  son  of  Themis,  who  is  sage ! 
Thee  loath,  I  loath  must  rivet  fast  in  chains 
Against  this  rocky  height  unclomb  by  man, 

5 


6  ^SCHYLUS 

Where  never  human  voice  nor  face  shall  find 
Out  thee  who  lov'st  them  ;  and  thy  beauty's  flower, 
Scorched  in  the  sun's  clear  heat,  shall  fade  away. 
Night  shall  come  up  with  garniture  of  stars 
To  comfort  thee  with  shadow,  and  the  sun 
Disperse  with  retrickt  beams  the  morning-frosts  ; 
But  through  all  changes,  sense  of  present  woe 
Shall  vex  thee  sore,  because  with  none  of  them 
There  comes  a  hand  to  free.     Such  fruit  is  plucked 
From  love  of  man  !     And  in  that  thou,  a  god, 
Didst  brave  the  wrath  of  gods,  and  give  away 
Undue  respect  to  mortals,  for  that  crime 
Thou  art  adjudged  to  guard  this  joyless  rock, 
Erect,  unslumbering,  bending  not  the  knee, 
And  many  a  cry  and  unavailing  moan 
To  utter  on  the  air.     For  Zeus  is  stern, 
And  new-made  kings  are  cruel. 

Strength.  Be  it  so. 

Why  loiter  in  vain  pity  ?     Why  not  hate 
A  god  the  gods  hate  ? — one,  too,  who  betrayed 
Thy  glory  unto  men  ? 

Hephcestus.  An  awful  thing 

Is  kinship  joined  to  friendship. 

Strength.  Grant  it  be  : 

Is  disobedience  to  the  Father's  word 
A  possible  thing?     Dost  quail  not  more  for  that? 

Hcplicestus.  Thou,  at  least,  art  a  stern  one,  ever  bold. 

Strength.  Why,  if  I  wept,  it  were  no  remedy ; 
And  do  not  thou  spend  labour  on  the  air 
To  bootless  uses. 

Hephcestus.  Cursed  handicraft ! 

I  curse  and  hate  thee,  O  my  craft ! 

Strength.  Why  hate 

Thy  craft  most  plainly  innocent  of  all 
These  pending  ills  ? 

//fp/Ki'stus.  I  would  some  other  hand 
Were  IKT<-  to  \vork  it ! 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  7 

Strength.  All  work  hath  its  pain, 
Except  to  rule  the  gods.     There  is  none  free 
Except  King  Zeus. 

HcpJicestus.  I  know  it  very  well ; 

I  argue  not  against  it. 

Strength.  Why  not,  then, 

Make  haste  and  lock  the  fetters  over  him, 
Lest  Zeus  behold  thee  lagging? 

Hephcestus.  Here  be  chains. 

Zeus  may  behold  these. 

Strength.  Seize  him  ;  strike  amain  ; 
Strike  with  the  hammer  on  each  side  his  hands ; 
Rivet  him  to  the  rock. 

Hephcestus.  The  work  is  done, 

And  thoroughly  done. 

Strength.  Still  faster  grapple  him ; 

Wedge  him  in  deeper ;  leave  no  inch  to  stir. 
He's  terrible  for  finding  a  way  out 
From  the  irremediable. 

Hephcestus.  Here's  an  arm,  at  least, 
Grappled  past  freeing. 

Strength.  Now,  then,  buckle  me 

The  other  securely.     Let  this  wise  one  learn 
He's  duller  than  our  Zeus. 

Hephcestus.  Oh,  none  but  he 

Accuse  me  justly. 

Strength.  Now,  straight  through  the  chest, 

Take  him  and  bite  him  with  the  clinching  tooth 
Of  the  adamantine  wedge,  and  rivet  him. 

Hephcestus.  Alas!  Prometheus,  what  thou  sufferest  here 
I  sorrow  over. 

Strength.      Dost  thou  flinch  again, 
And  breathe  groans  for  the  enemies  of  Zeus  ? 
Beware  lest  thine  own  pity  find  thee  out. 

Hephcestus.  Thou  dost  behold  a  spectacle  that  turns 
The  sight  o'  the  eyes  to  pity. 

Strength.  I  behold 


g  AESCHYLUS 

A  sinner  suffer  his  sin's  penalty. 
But  lash  the  thongs  about  his  sides. 

Hcphastus.  So  much 

I  must  do.     Urge  no  further  than  I  must. 

Strength.  Ay,   but    I   will    urge  !    and,  with  shout   on 

shout, 

Will  hound  thee  at  this  quarry.     Get  thee  down, 
And  ring  amain  the  iron  round  his  legs. 

Hep/uestus.  That  work  was  not  long  doing. 
Strength.  Heavily  now 

Let  fall  the  strokes  upon  the  perforant  gyves  ; 
For  he  who  rates  the  work  has  a  heavy  hand. 
Hcphcestus.  Thy  speech  is  savage  as  thy  shape. 
Strength.  Be  thou 

Gentle  and  tender,  but  revile  not  me 
For  the  firm  will  and  the  untruckling  hate. 

HcphcBstus.  Let  us  go.     He  is  netted  round  with  chains. 
Strength.  Here,  now,  taunt  on  !  and,  having  spoiled  the 

gods 

Of  honours,  crown  withal  thy  mortal  men 
Who  live  a  whole  day  out.     Why,  how  could  they 
Draw  off  from  thee  one  single  of  thy  griefs? 
Methinks  the  Daemons  gave  thee  a  wrong  name, 
Prometheus,  which  means  Providence,  because 
Thou  dost  thyself  need  providence  to  see 
Thy  roll  and  ruin  from  the  top  of  doom. 

Prometheus,   (alone]  O  holy   ^Ether,   and    swift-winged 

Winds, 

And  River-wells,  and  Laughter  innumerous 
Of  yon  sea-waves  !     Earth,  mother  of  us  all, 
And  all-viewing  cyclic  Sun,  I  cry  on  you — 
Behold  me  a  god,  what  I  endure  from  gods  ! 
Behold,  with  throe  on  throe, 
How,  wasted  by  this  woe, 
I  wrestle  down  the  myriad  years  of  time! 

Behold  how,  fast  around  me, 
The  new  King  of  the  happy  ones  sublime 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  9 

Has   flung   the   chain   he    forged,   has   shamed    and 

bound  me ! 

Woe,  woe  !  to-day's  woe  and  the  coming  morrow's 
I  cover  with  one  groan.     And  where  is  found  me 

A  limit  to  these  sorrows  ? 

And  yet  what  word  do  I  say  ?     I  have  foreknown 
Clearly  all  things  that  should  be  ;  nothing  done 
Comes  sudden  to  my  soul ;  and  I  must  bear 
What  is  ordained  with  patience,  being  aware 
Necessity  doth  front  the  universe 
With  an  invincible  gesture.     Yet  this  curse 
Which  strikes  me  now  I  find  it  hard  to  brave 
In  silence  or  in  speech.     Because  I  gave 
Honour  to  mortals,  I  have  yoked  my  soul 
To  this  compelling  fate.     Because  I  stole 
The  secret  fount  of  fire,  whose  bubbles  went 
Over  the  ferule's  brim,  and  manward  sent 
Art's  mighty  means  and,  perfect  rudiment, 
That  sin  I  expiate  in  this  agony, 
Hung  here  in  fetters,  'neath  the  blanching  sky. 

Ah,  ah  me  !  what  a  sound  ! 

What  a  fragrance  sweeps  up  from  a  pinion  unseen 
Of  a  god,  or  a  mortal,  or  Nature  between, 
Sweeping   up   to   this   rock   where   the  Earth   has   her 

•  bound, 

To  have  sight  of  my  pangs,  or  some  guerdon  obtain. 
Lo,  a  god  in  the  anguish,  a  god  in  the  chain  ! 
The  god  Zeus  hateth  sore, 
And  his  gods  hate  again, 
As  many  as  tread  on  his  glorified  floor, 
Because  I  love  mortals  too  much  evermore. 
Alas  me  !  what  a  murmur  and  motion  I  hear, 
As  of  birds  flying  near  ! 
And  the  air  undersings 
The  light  stroke  of  their  wings, 
And  all  life  that  approaches  I  wait  for  in  fear. 


I0  ^SCHYLUS 

CHORUS  of  Sea-nymphs,  ist  strophe 

Fear  nothing  !  our  troop 

Floats  lovingly  up 

With  a  quick-oaring  stroke 

Of  wings  steered  to  the  rock, 
Having  softened  the  soul  of  our  father  below. 
For  the  gales  of  swift-bearing  have  sent  me  a  sound, 
And  the  clank  of  the  iron,  the  malleted  blow, 

Smote  down  the  profound 

Of  my  caverns  of  old, 

And  struck  the  red  light  in  a  blush  from  my  brow, 
Till  I  sprang  up  unsandalled,  in  haste  to  behold, 
And  rushed  forth  on  my  chariot  of  wings  manifold. 

Prometheus.  Alas  me  !  alas  me  ! 
Ye  offspring  of  Tethys,  who  bore  at  her  breast 
Many  children,  and  eke  of  Oceanus,  he, 
Coiling  still  around  earth  with  perpetual  unrest ! 

Behold  me  and  see 
How  transfixed  with  the  fang 
Of  a  fetter  I  hang 

On  the  high-jutting  rocks  of  this  fissure,  and  keep 
An  uncoveted  watch  o'er  the  world  and  the  deep. 

CHORUS,  ist  antistroplie 

I  behold  thee,  Prometheus  ;  yet  now,  yet  now, 
A  terrible  cloud  whose  rain  is  tears 
Sweeps  over  mine  eyes  that  witness  how 

Thy  body  appears 

1  lung  awaste  on  the  rocks  by  infrangible  chains; 
For  new  is  the  hand,  new  the  rudder,  that  steers 
The  ship  of  Olympus  through  surge  and  wind, 
And  of  old  things  passed,  no  track  is  behind. 

Prometheus.    Under  earth,  under  Hades, 
Where  the  home  of  the  shade  is, 
All  into  the  deep,  deep  Tartarus, 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  II 

I  would  he  had  hurled  me  adown. 
I  would  he  had  plunged  me,  fastened  thus 
In  the  knotted  chain,  with  the  savage  clang, 
All  into  the  dark,  where  there  should  be  none, 
Neither  god  nor  another,  to  laugh  and  see. 

But  now  the  winds  sing  through  and  shake 

The  hurtling  chains  wherein  I  hang, 

And  I  in  my  naked  sorrows  make 
Much  mirth  for  my  enemy. 

CHORUS,  2d  strophe 
Nay  !  who  of  the  gods  hath  a  heart  so  stern 

As  to  use  thy  woe  for  a  mock  and  mirth  ? 
Who  would  not  turn  more  mild  to  learn 

Thy  sorrows  ?  who  of  the  heaven  and  earth 
Save  Zeus  ?     But  he 
Right  wrathfully 
Bears  on  his  sceptral  soul  unbent, 
And  rules  thereby  the  heavenly  seed, 
Nor  will  he  pause  till  he  content 
His  thirsty  heart  in  a  finished  deed, 
Or  till  Another  shall  appear, 
To  win  by  fraud,  to  seize  by  fear, 
The  hard-to-be-captured  government. 

Prometheus.  Yet  even  of  me  he  shall  have  need, 
That  monarch  of  the  blessed  seed — 
Of  me,  of  me  who  now  am  cursed 

By  his  fetters  dire — 
To  wring  my  secret  out  withal, 

And  learn  by  whom  his  sceptre  shall 
Be  filched  from  him,  as  was  at  first 

His  heavenly  fire. 
But  he  never  shall  enchant  me 

With  his  honey-lipped  persuasion  ; 
Never,  never,  shall  he  daunt  me, 
With  the  oath  and  threat  of  passion, 


I2  J-.SCHYLUS 

Into  speaking-  as  they  want  me, 
Till  he  loose  this  savage  chain, 

And  accept  the  expiation 
Of  my  sorrow  in  his  pain. 

CHORUS,  zd  antistrophe 
Thou  art,  sooth,  a  brave  god, 

And,  for  all  thou  hast  borne 
From  the  stroke  of  the  rod, 

Naught  relaxest  from  scorn. 
But  thou  speakest  unto  me 

Too  free  and  unworn  ; 
And  a  terror  strikes  through  me 

And  festers  my  soul, 

And  I  fear,  in  the  roll 
Of  the  storm,  for  thy  fate 

In  the  ship  far  from  shore ; 
Since  the  son  of  Saturnus  is  hard  in  his  hate, 

And  unmoved  in  his  heart  evermore. 

Prometheus.  I  know  that  Zeus  is  stern ; 
I  know  he  metes  his  justice  by  his  will ; 
And  yet  his  soul  shall  learn 
More  softness  when  once  broken  by  this  ill ; 
And,  curbing  his  unconquerable  vaunt, 
He  shall  rush  on  in  fear  to  meet  with  me 
Who  rush  to  meet  with  him  in  agony, 
To  issues  of  harmonious  covenant. 

Chorus.  Remove  the  veil  from  all  things,  and  relate 
The  story  to  us — of  what  crime  accused, 
Zeus  smites  thee  with  dishonourable  pangs, 
Speak,  if  to  teach  us  do  not  grieve  thyself. 

PromctJicus.  The  utterance  of   these  things  is  torture 

to  me, 

But  so,  too,  is  their  silence  :  each  way  lies 
Woe  strong  as  fate. 

When  gods  began  with  wrath, 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  13 

And  war  rose  up  between  their  starry  brows, 

Some  choosing  to  cast  Chronos  from  his  throne 

That  Zeus  might  king  it  there,  and  some  in  haste 

With  opposite  oaths,  that  they  would  have  no  Zeus 

To  rule  the  gods  forever — I,  who  brought 

The  counsel  I  thought  meetest,  could  not  move 

The  Titans,  children  of  the  Heaven  and  Earth, 

What  time,  disdaining  in  their  rugged  souls 

My  subtle  machinations,  they  assumed 

It  was  an  easy  thing  for  force  to  take 

The  mastery  of  fate.     My  mother,  then, 

Who  is  called  not  only  Themis,  but  Earth  too 

(Her  single  beauty  joys  in  many  names), 

Did  teach  me  with  reiterant  prophecy 

What  future  should  be,  and  how  conquering  gods 

Should  not  prevail  by  strength  and  violence, 

But  by  guile  only.     When  I  told  them  so, 

They  would  not  deign  to  contemplate  the  truth 

On  all  sides  round  ;  whereat  I  deemed  it  best 

To  lead  my  willing  mother  upwardly, 

And  set  my  Themis  face  to  face  with  Zeus 

As  willing  to  receive  her.     Tartarus, 

With  its  abysmal  cloister  of  the  Dark, 

Because  I  gave  that  counsel,  covers  up 

The  antique  Chronos  and  his  siding  hosts, 

And,  by  that  counsel  helped,  the  king  of  gods 

Hath  recompensed  me  with  these  bitter  pangs ; 

For  kingship  wears  a  cancer  at  the  heart — 

Distrust  in  friendship.     Do  ye  also  ask 

What  crime  it  is  for  which  he  tortures  me  ? 

That  shall  be  clear  before  you.     When  at  first 

He  filled  his  father's  throne,  he  instantly 

Made  various  gifts  of  glory  to  the  gods, 

And  dealt  the  empire  out.     Alone  of  men, 

Of  miserable  men,  he  took  no  count; 

But  yearned  to  sweep  their  track  off  from  the  world, 

And  plant  a  newer  race  there.     Not  a  god 


I4  AESCHYLUS 

Resisted  such  desire,  except  myself. 

I  dared  it !     I  drew  mortals  back  to  light, 

From  meditated  ruin  deep  as  hell ! 

For  which  wrong  I  am  bent  down  in  these  pangs 

Dreadful  to  suffer,  mournful  to  behold, 

And  I  who  pitied  man  am  thought  myself 

Unworthy  of  pity ;  while  I  render  out 

Deep  rhythms  of  anguish  'neath  the  harping  hand 

That  strikes  me  thus — a  sight  to  shame  your  Zeus ! 

Chorus.  Hard  as  thy  chains,  and  cold  as  all  these  rocks, 
Is  he,  Prometheus,  who  withholds  his  heart 
From  joining  in  thy  woe.     I  yearned  before 
To  fly  this  sight ;  and,  now  I  gaze  on  it, 
I  sicken  inward. 

Prometheus.         To  my  friends,  indeed, 
I  must  be  a  sad  sight. 

Chorus.  And  didst  thou  sin 

No  more  than  so? 

Prometheus.  I  did  restrain  besides 

My  mortals  from  premeditating  death. 

Chorus.  How  didst  thou   medicine  the  plague-fear  of 
death  ? 

Prometheus.  I  set  blind  Hopes  to  inhabit  in  their  house. 

Chorus.  By  that  gift  thou  didst  help  thy  mortals  well. 

Prometheus.  I  gave  them  also  fire. 

Chorus.  And  have  they  now, 

Those  creatures  of  a  day,  the  red-eyed  fire? 

Prometheus.  They  have,  and  shall  learn  by  it  many  arts. 

Chorus.  And  truly  for  such  sins  Zeus  tortures  thee, 
And  will  remit  no  anguish?     Is  there  set 
No  limit  before  thee  to  thine  agony? 

Prometheus.  No  other — only  what  seems  good  to  him. 

Chorus.  And   how   will   it  seem  good  ?  what  hope  re- 
mains? 
Seest  thou  not  that  thou  hast  sinned  ?     But  that  thou  hast 

sinned 
It  glads  me  not  to  speak  of,  and  grieves  thee ; 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  15 

Then  let  it  pass  from  both,  and  seek  thyself 
Some  outlet  from  distress. 

Prometheus.  It  is  in  truth 

An  easy  thing  to  stand  aloof  from  pain, 
And  lavish  exhortation  and  advice 
On  one  vexed  sorely  by  it.     I  have  known 
All  in  prevision.     By  my  choice,  my  choice, 
I  freely  sinned — I  will  confess  my  sin — 
And,  helping  mortals,  found  mine  own  despair. 
I  did  not  think  indeed  that  I  should  pine 
Beneath  such  pangs  against  such  skyey  rocks, 
Doomed  to  this  drear  hill,  and  no  neighbouring 
Of  any  life.     But  mourn  not  ye  for  griefs 
I  bear  to-day  :  hear  rather,  dropping  down 
To  the  plain,  how  other  woes  creep  on  to  me, 
And  learn  the  consummation  of  my  doom. 
Beseech  you,  nymphs,  beseech  you,  grieve  for  me 
Who  now  am  grieving ;  for  Grief  walks  the  earth, 
And  sits  down  at  the  foot  of  each  by  turns. 

Chorus.  We  hear  the  deep  clash  of  thy  words, 
Prometheus,  and  obey. 
And  I  spring  with  a  rapid  foot  away 

From  the  rushing  car  and  the  holy  air, 
The  track  of  birds  ; 

And  I  drop  to  the  rugged  ground,  and  there 

Await  the  tale  of  thy  despair. 

OCEANUS  enters 

Oceanus.  I  reach  the  bourne  of  my  weary  road 
Where  I  may  see  and  answer  thee, 
Prometheus,  in  thine  agony. 
On  the  back  of  the  quick-winged  bird  I  glode, 
And  I  bridled  him  in 
With  the  will  of  a  god. 
Behold,  thy  sorrow  aches  in  me 

Constrained  by  the  force  of  kin. 
Nay,  though  that  tie  were  all  undone, 


!6  AESCHYLUS 

For  the  life  of  none  beneath  the  sun 

Would  I  seek  a  larger  benison 
Than  I  seek  for  thine. 

And  thou  shalt  learn  my  words  are  truth, 

That  no  fair  parlance  of  the  mouth 
Grows  falsely  out  of  mine. 

Now  give  me  a  deed  to  prove  my  faith ; 

For  no  faster  friend  is  named  in  breath 

Than  I,  Oceanus,  am  thine. 
Prometheus.  Ha!  what  has  brought  thee?     Hast  thou 

also  come 

To  look  upon  my  woe  ?     How  hast  thou  dared 
To  leave  the  depths  called  after  thee  ?  the  caves 
Self-hewn,  and  self-roofed  with  spontaneous  rock, 
To  visit  Earth,  the  mother  of  my  chain  ? 
Hast  come,  indeed,  to  view  my  doom,  and  mourn 
That  I  should  sorrow  thus  ?     Gaze  on,  and  see 
How  I,  the  fast  friend  of  your  Zeus — how  I 
The  erector  of  the  empire  in  his  hand, 
Am  bent  beneath  that  hand  in  this  despair. 

Oceanus.  Prometheus,  I  behold ;  and  I  would  fain 
Exhort  thee,  though  already  subtle  enough, 
To  a  better  wisdom.     Titan,  know  thyself, 
And  take  new  softness  to  thy  manners,  since 
A  new  king  rules  the  gods.     If  words  like  these, 
Harsh  words  and  trenchant,  thou  wilt  fling  abroad, 
Zeus  haply,  though  he  sit  so  far  and  high, 
May  hear  thee  do  it,  and  so  this  wrath  of  his, 
Which  now  affects  thee  fiercely,  shall  appear 
A  mere  child's  sport  at  vengeance.     Wretched  god, 
Rather  dismiss  the  passion  which  thou  hast, 
And  seek  a  change  from  grief.     Perhaps  I  seem 
To  address  thee  with  old  saws  and  outworn  sense ; 
Yet  such  a  curse,  Prometheus,  surely  waits 
On  lips  that  speak  too  proudly  :  thou,  meantime, 
Art  none  the  meeker,  nor  dost  yield  a  jot 
To  evil  circumstance,  preparing  still 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  17 

To  swell  the  account  of  grief  with  other  griefs 

Than  what  are  borne.     Beseech  thee,  use  me,  then, 

For  counsel :  do  not  spurn  against  the  pricks, 

Seeing  that  who  reigns,  reigns  by  cruelty 

Instead  of  right.     And  now  I  go  from  hence, 

And  will  endeavour  if  a  power  of  mine 

Can  break  thy  fetters  through.     For  thee — be  calm, 

And  smooth  thy  words  from  passion.     Knowest  thou  not, 

Of  perfect  knowledge,  thou  who  knowest  too  much, 

That,  where  the  tongue  wags,  ruin  never  lags  ? 

Prometheus.  I  gratulate  thee  who  hast  shared  and  dared 
All  things  with  me,  except  their  penalty. 
Enough  so !  leave  these  thoughts.     It  can  not  be 
That  thou  shouldst  move  him.     He  may  not  be  moved ; 
And  thou,  beware  of  sorrow  on  this  road. 

Oceanus.  Ay  !  ever  wiser  for  another's  use 
Than  thine.     The  event,  and  not  the  prophecy, 
Attests  it  to  me.     Yet,  where  now  I  rush, 
Thy  wisdom  hath  no  power  to  drag  me  back. 
Because  I  glory,  glory,  to  go  hence, 
And  win  for  thee  deliverance  from  thy  pangs, 
As  a  free  gift  from  Zeus. 

Prometheus.  Why  there,  again, 

I  give  thee  gratulation  and  applause. 
Thou  lackest  no  good-will.     But,  as  for  deeds, 
Do  naught !  'twere  all  done  vainly,  helping  naught, 
Whatever  thou  wouldst  do.     Rather  take  rest, 
And  keep  thyself  from  evil.     If  I  grieve, 
I  do  not  therefore  wish  to  multiply 
The  griefs  of  others.     Verily,  not  so ! 
For  still  my  brother's  doom  doth  vex  my  soul — 
My  brother  Atlas,  standing  in  the  west, 
Shouldering  the  column  of  the  heaven  and  earth, 
A  difficult  burden !     I  have  also  seen, 
And  pitied  as  I  saw,  the  earth-born  one, 
The  inhabitant  of  old  Cilician  caves, 
The  great  war-monster  of  the  hundred  heads 


!8  ,-KSCHYLUS 

(All  taken  and  bowed  beneath  the  violent  Hand), 

Typhon  the  fierce,  who  did  resist  the  gods, 

And,  hissing  slaughter  from  his  dreadful  jaws, 

Flash  out  ferocious  glory  from  his  eyes 

As  if  to  storm  the  throne  of  Zeus.     Whereat, 

The  sleepless  arrow  of  Zeus  flew  straight  at  him, 

The  headlong  bolt  of  thunder-breathing  flame, 

And 'struck  him  downward  from  his  eminence 

Of  exultation  ;  through  the  very  soul 

It  struck  him,  and  his  strength  was  withered  up 

To  ashes,  thunder-blasted.     Now  he  lies, 

A  helpless  trunk,  supinely,  at  full-length 

Beside  the  strait  of  ocean,  spurred  into 

By  roots  of  ^Etna,  high  upon  whose  tops 

Hephaestus  sits,  and  strikes  the  flashing  ore. 

From  thence  the  rivers  of  fire  shall  burst  away 

Hereafter,  and  devour  with  savage  jaws 

The  equal  plains  of  fruitful  Sicily, 

Such  passion  he  shall  boil  back  in  hot  darts 

Of  an  insatiate  fury  and  sough  of  flame, 

Fallen  Typhon,  howsoever  struck  and  charred 

By  Zeus's  bolted  thunder.     But  for  thee, 

Thou  art  not  so  unlearned  as  to  need 

My  teaching ;  let  thy  knowledge  save  thyself. 

I  quaff  the  full  cup  of  a  present  doom, 

And  wait  till  Zeus  hath  quenched  his  will  in  wrath. 

Oceanus.   Prometheus,  art  thou  ignorant  of  this, 
That  words  do  medicine  anger? 

Prometheus.  If  the  word 

With  seasonable  softness  touch  the  soul, 
And,  where  the  parts  are  ulcerous,  sear  them  not 
By  any  rudeness. 

Oceanus.  With  a  noble  aim 

To  dare  as  nobly — is  there  harm  in  that? 
Dost  thou  discern  it?     Teach  me. 

Prometheus.  I  discern 

Vain  aspiration,  unresultive  work. 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  19 

Oceanus.  Then  suffer  me  to  bear  the  brunt  of  this, 
Since  it  is  profitable  that  one  who  is  wise 
Should  seem  not  wise  at  all. 

Prometheus.  And  such  would  seem 

My  very  crime. 

Oceanus.  In  truth  thine  argument 

Sends  me  back  home. 

Prometheus.  Lest  any  lament  for  me 

Should  cast  thee  down  to  hate. 

Oceanus.  The  hate  of  him 

Who  sits  a  new  king  on  the  absolute  throne  ? 

Prometheus.  Beware  of  him,  lest  thine  heart  grieve  by 
him. 

Oceanus.  Thy  doom,  Prometheus,  be  my  teacher ! 

Prometheus.  Go ! 

Depart !     Beware  !     And  keep  the  mind  thou  hast. 

Oceanus.  Thy  words  drive  after,  as  I  rush  before. 
Lo,  my  four-footed  bird  sweeps  smooth  and  wide 
The  flats  of  air  with  balanced  pinions,  glad 
To  bend  his  knee  at  home  in  the  ocean-stall. 

[OCEANUS  departs. 

CHORUS,  ist  strophe 
I  moan  thy  fate,  I  moan  for  thee, 

Prometheus  !     From  my  eyes  too  tender 
Drop  after  drop  incessantly 

The  tears  of  my  heart's  pity  render 
My  cheeks  wet  from  their  fountains  free ; 
Because  that  Zeus,  the  stern  and  cold, 

Whose  law  is  taken  from  his  breast, 

Uplifts  his  sceptre  manifest 
Over  the  gods  of  old. 

ist  antistrophe 
All  the  land  is  moaning 
With  a  murmured  plaint  to-day ; 
All  the  mortal  nations 
Having  habitations 


20  /ESCHYLUS 

In  the  holy  Asia 

Are  a  dirge  entoning 
For  thine  honour  and  thy  brothers', 
Once-majestic  beyond  others 

In  the  old  belief — 
Now  are  groaning  in  the  groaning 

Of  thy  deep-voiced  grief. 

sd  strophe 
Mourn  the  maids  inhabitant 

Of  the  Colchian  land, 
Who  with  white,  calm  bosoms  stand 

In  the  battle's  roar : 
Mourn  the  Scythian  tribes  that  haunt 

The  verge  of  earth,  Maeotis'  shore. 

2d  antistrophe 

Yea !  Arabia's  battle  crown, 
And  dwellers  in  the  beetling  town 

Mount  Caucasus  sublimely  nears — 
An  iron  squadron,  thundering  down 

With  the  sharp-prowed  spears. 

But  one  other  before  have  I  seen  to  remain 

By  invincible  pain, 
Bound   and    vanquished — one    Titan  !    'twas    Atlas,  who 

bears 
In  a  curse  from  the  gods,  by  that  strength  of  his  own 

Which  he  evermore  wears, 
The  weight  of  the  heaven  on  his  shoulder  alone, 

While  he  sighs  up  the  stars ; 
And  the  tides  of  the  ocean  wail,  bursting  .their  bars; 

Murmurs  still  the  profound. 
And   black  Hades  roars  up  through   the  chasm  of    the 

ground, 

And  the  fountains  of  pure-running  rivers  moan  low 
In  a  pathos  of  woe. 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  21 

Prometheus.  Beseech  you,  think  not  I  am  silent  thus 
Through  pride  or  scorn.     I  only  gnaw  my  heart 
With  meditation,  seeing  myself  so  wronged. 
For  see — their  honours  to  these  new-made  gods, 
What  other  gave  but  I,  and  dealt  them  out 
With  distribution?     Ay  !  but  here  I  am  dumb; 
For  here  I  should  repeat  your  knowledge  to  you, 
If  I  spake  aught.     List  rather  to  the  deeds 
I  did  for  mortals ;  how,  being  fools  before, 
I  made  them  wise  and  true  in  aim  of  soul. 
And  let  me  tell  you — not  as  taunting  men, 
But  teaching  you  the  intention  of  my  gifts — • 
How,  first  beholding,  they  beheld  in  vain, 
And,  hearing,  heard  not,  but,  like  shapes  in  dreams, 
Mixed  all  things  wildly  down  the  tedious  time, 
Nor  knew  to  build  a  house  against  the  sun 
With  wicketed  sides,  nor  any  woodcraft  knew, 
But  lived,  like  silly  ants,  beneath  the  ground 
In  hollow  caves  unsunned.     There  came  to  them 
No  steadfast  sign  of  winter,  nor  of  spring 
Flower-perfumed,  nor  of  summer  full  of  fruit, 
But  blindly  and  lawlessly  they  did  all  things, 
Until  I  taught  them  how  the  stars  do  rise 
And  set  in  mystery,  and  devised  for  them 
Number,  the  inducer  of  philosophies, 
The  synthesis  of  letters,  and,  beside, 
The  artificer  of  all  things,  memory, 
That  sweet  muse-mother.     I  was  first  to  yoke 
The  servile  beasts  in  couples,  carrying 
An  heirdom  of  man's  burdens  on  their  backs. 
I  joined  to  chariots,  steeds,  that  love  the  bit 
They  champ  at — the  chief  pomp  of  golden  ease. 
And  none  but  I  originated  ships, 
The  seaman's  chariots,  wanderings  on  the  brine 
With  linen  wings.     And  I — oh,  miserable! — 
Who  did  devise  for  mortals  all  these  arts, 
Have  no  device  left  now  to  save  myself 


22  AESCHYLUS 

From  the  woe  I  suffer. 

Chorus.  Most  unseemly  woe 

Thou  sufferest,  and  dost  stagger  from  the  sense 
Bewildered  !     Like  a  bad  leech  falling  sick, 
Thou  art  faint  at  soul,  and  canst  not  find  the  drugs 
Required  to  save  thyself. 

Prometheus.  Hearken  the  rest, 

And  marvel  further,  what  more  arts  and  means 
1  did  invent — this,  greatest :  if  a  man 
Fell  sick,  there  was  no  cure,  nor  esculent 
Nor  chrism  nor  liquid,  but  for  lack  of  drugs 
Men  pined  and  wasted,  till  I  showed  them  all 
Those  mixtures  of  emollient  remedies 
Whereby  they  might  be  rescued  from  disease. 
I  fixed  the  various  rules  of  mantic  art, 
Discerned  the  vision  from  the  common  dream, 
Instructed  them  in  vocal  auguries 
Hard  to  interpret,  and  defined  as  plain 
The  wayside  omens — flights  of  crook-claWed  birds — 
Showed  which  are  by  their  nature  fortunate, 
And  which  not  so,  and  what  the  food  of  each, 
And  what  the  hates,  affections,  social  needs 
Of  all  to  one  another — taught  what  sign 
Of  visceral  lightness,  colored  to  a  shade, 
May  charm  the  genial  gods,  and  what  fair  spots 
Commend  the  lung  and  liver.     Burning  so 
The  limbs  incased  in  fat,  and  the  long  chine, 
I  led  my  mortals  on  to  an  art  abstruse, 
And  cleared  their  eyes  to  the  image  in  the  fire, 
Erst  filmed  in  dark.     Enough  said  now  of  this. 
For  the  other  helps  of  man  hid  underground, 
The  iron  and  the  brass,  silver  and  gold, 
Can  any  dare  affirm  he  found  them  out 
Before  me  ?     None,  I  know  !  unless  he  choose 
To  lie  in  his  vaunt.     In  one  word  learn  the  whole — 
That  all  arts  came  to  mortals  from  Prometheus. 

Chorus.  Give  mortals  now  no  inexpedient  help, 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  23 

Neglecting  thine  own  sorrow  ?     I  have  hope  still 
To  see  thee,  breaking  from  the  fetter  here, 
Stand  up  as  strong  as  Zeus. 

Prometheus.  This  ends  not  thus, 

The  oracular  fate  ordains.     I  must  be  bowed 
By  infinite  woes  and  pangs  to  escape  this  chain. 
Necessity  is  stronger  than  mine  art. 

Chorus.  Who  holds  the  helm  of  that  Necessity? 

Prometheus.  The  threefold  Fates  and  the  unforgetting 
Furies. 

Chorus.  Is  Zeus  less  absolute  than  these  are  ? 

Prometheus.  Yea, 

And  therefore  can  not  fly  what  is  ordained. 

Chorus.  What  is  ordained  for  Zeus,  except  to  be 
A  king  forever? 

Prometheus.  'Tis  too  early  yet 
For  thee  to  learn  it :  ask  no  more. 

Chorus.  Perhaps 

Thy  secret  may  be  something  holy  ? 

Prometheus.  Turn 

To  another  matter  :  this,  it  is  not  time 
To  speak  abroad,  but  utterly  to  veil 
In  silence.     For  by  that  same  secret  kept, 
I  'scape  this  chain's  dishonour,  and  its  woe. 

CHORUS,  ist  strophe 

Never,  oh,  never, 

May  Zeus,  the  all-giver, 

Wrestle  down  from  his  throne 

In  that  might  of  his  own 

To  antagonize  mine ! 

Nor  let  me  delay 

As  I  bend  on  my  way 

Toward  the  gods  of  the  shrine 

Where  the  altar  is  full 

Of  the  blood  of  the  bull, 

Near  the  tossing:  brine  ' 


24  ^SCHYLUS 

Of  Ocean  my  father. 

May  no  sin  be  sped  in  the  word  that  is  said, 
But  my  vow  be  rather 

Consummated, 
Nor  evermore  fail,  nor  evermore  pine. 

1st  antistrophe 
'Tis  sweet  to  have 

Life  lengthened  out 
With  hopes  proved  brave 

By  the  very  doubt, 
Till  the  spirit  infold 

Those  manifest  joys  which  were  foretold. 
But  I  thrill  to  behold 

Thee,  victim  doomed, 
By  the  countless  cares 
And  the  drear  despairs 
Forever  consumed — 
And  all  because  thou,  who  art  fearless  now 

Of  Zeus  above, 

Didst  overflow  for  mankind  below 
With  a  free-souled,  reverent  love. 

Ah,  friend,  behold  and  see ! 
What's  all  the  beauty  of  humanity  ? 

Can  it  be  fair  ? 
What's  all  the  strength  ?     Is  it  strong? 

And  what  hope  can  they  bear, 
These  dying  livers,  living  one  day  long? 
Ah,  seest  thou  not,  my  friend, 

How  feeble  and  slow,  . 

And  like  a  dream,  doth  go 
This  poor  blind  manhood,  drifted  from  its  end? 

And  how  no  mortal  wranglings  can  confuse 

The  harmony  of  Zeus? 

I 
Prometheus,  I  have  learned  these  things 

From  the  sorrow  in  thy  face. 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  25 

Another  song  did  fold  its  wings 
Upon  my  lips  in  other  days, 
When  round  the  bath  and  round  the  bed 
The  hymeneal  chant  instead 

I  sang  for  thee,  and  smiled, 
And  thou  didst  lead,  with  gifts  and  vows, 

Hesione,  my  father's  child, 
To  be  thy  wedded  spouse. 

lo  enters 

lo.  What  land  is  this  ?  what  people  is  here  ? 
And  who  is  he  that  writhes,  I  see, 

In  the  rock-hung  chain  ? 

Now  what  is  the  crime  that  hath  brought  thee  to  pain  ? 
Now  what  is  the  land — make  answer  free — 
Which  I  wander  through  in  my  wrong  and  fear? 

Ah,  ah,  ah  me  ! 

The  gad-fly  stingeth  to  agony  ! 
O  Earth,  keep  off  that  phantasm  pale 
Of  earth-born  Argus  ! — ah  !  I  quail 

When  my  soul  descries 
That  herdsman  with  the  myriad  eyes 
Which  seem,  as  he  comes,  one  crafty  eye. 
Graves  hide  him  not,  though  he  should  die ; 
But  he  doggeth  me  in  my  misery 
From  the  roots  of  death,  on  high,  on  high ; 
And  along  the  sands  of  the  siding  deep, 
All  famine-worn,  he  follows  me, 
And  his  waxen  reed  doth  undersound 

The  waters  round, 
And  giveth  a  measure  that  giveth  sleep. 

Woe,  woe,  woe  ! 

Where  shall  my  weary  course  be  done? 
What  wouldst  thou  with  me,  Saturn's  son? 
And  in  what  have  I  sinned,  that  I  should  go 
Thus  yoked  to  grief  by  thine  hand  forever? 


26  J'SCIIYLUS 

Ah,  ah  !  dost  vex  me  so 
That  I  madden  and  shiver 
Stung  through  with  dread  ? 

Flash  the  fire  down  to  burn  me ! 
Heave  the  earth  up  to  cover  me ! 
Plunge  me  in  the  deep,  with  the  salt  waves  over  me, 
That  the  sea-beasts  may  be  fed  ! 

0  king,  do  not  spurn  me 

In  my  prayer! 
For  this  wandering  everlonger,  evermore, 

Hath  overworn  me, 
And  I  know  not  on  what  shore 

1  may  rest  from  my  despair. 

Chorus.  Hearest  thou  what  the  ox-horned  maiden  saith  ? 

Prometheus.  How  could  I  choose  but  hearken  what  she 

saith, 

The  frenzied  maiden  ? — Inachus's  child  ? — 
Who  love-warms  Zeus's  heart,  and  now  is  lashed 
By  Here's  hate  along  the  unending  ways  ? 

lo.  Who  taught  thee  to  articulate  that  name — 
My  father's?     Speak  to  his  child 
By  grief  and  shame  defiled  ! 
Who 'art  thou,  victim,  thou  who  dost  acclaim 
Mine  anguish  in  true  words  on  the  wide  air, 
And  callest,  too,  by  name  the  curse  that  came 

From  Here  unaware, 
To  waste  and  pierce  me  with  its  maddening  goad  ? 

Ah,  ah,  I  leap 
With  the  pang  of  the  hungry  ;  I  bound  on  the  road  ; 

I  am  driven  by  my  doom; 

I  am  overcome 

By  the  wrath  of  an  enemy  strong  and  deep  ! 
Are  any  of  those  who  have  tasted  pain, 

Alas  !  as  wretched  as  T  ? 
Now  tell  me  plain,  doth  aught  remain 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  27 

For  my  soul  to  endure  beneath  the  sky  ? 
Is  there  any  help  to  be  holpen  by  ? 
If  knowledge  be  in  thee,  let  it  be  said  ! 

Cry  aloud — cry 
To  the  wandering,  woful  maid. 

Prometheus.  Whatever  thou  wouldst  learn,   I  will  de- 
clare ; 

No  riddle  upon  my  lips,  but  such  straight  words 
As  friends  should  use  to  each  other  when  they  talk. 
Thou  seest  Prometheus,  who  gave  mortals  fire. 

lo.  O  common  help  of  all  men,  known  of  all, 
O  miserable  Prometheus,  for  what  cause 
Dost  thou  endure  thus? 

Prometheus.  I  have  done  with  wail 

For  my  own  griefs  but  lately. 

lo.  Wilt  thou  not 

Vouchsafe  the  boon  to  me  ? 

Prometheus.  Say  what  thou  wilt, 

For  I  vouchsafe  all. 

lo.  Speak,  then,  and  reveal 

Who  shut  thee  in  this  chasm. 

Prometheus.  The  will  of  Zeus, 

The  hand  of  his  Hephaestus. 

lo.  •  And  what  crime 

Dost  expiate  so? 

Prometheus.        Enough  for  thee  I  have  told 
In  so  much  only. 

lo.  Nay,  but  show  besides 

The  limit  of  my  wandering,  and  the  time 
Which  yet  is  lacking  to  fulfil  my  grief. 

Prometheus.  Why,  not  to  know   were  better  than  to 

know 
For  such  as  thou. 

lo.  Beseech  thee,  blind  me  not 

To  that  which  I  must  suffer. 

Prometheus.  If  I  do, 


28  /KSCIIVLUS 

The  reason  is  not  that  I  grudge  a  boon. 

lo.  What  reason,  then,  prevents  thy  speaking  out  ? 

Prometheus.  No  grudging,   but  a  fear  to   break  thine 
heart. 

lo.  Less  care  for  me,  I  pray  thee.     Certainty 
I  count  for  advantage. 

Prometheus.  Thou  wilt  have  it  so, 

And  therefore  I  must  speak.     Now  hear— 

Chorus.  Not  yet. 

Give  half  the  guerdon  my  way.     Let  us  learn 
First  what  the  curse  is  that  befell  the  maid, 
Her  own  voice  telling  her  own  wasting  woes  : 
The  sequence  of  that  anguish  shall  await 
The  teaching  of  thy  lips. 

Prometheus.  It  doth  behoove 

That  thou,  maid  lo,  shouldst  vouchsafe  to  these 
The  grace  they  pray — the  more,  because  they  are  called 
Thy  father's  sisters  ;  since  to  open  out 
And  mourn  out  grief,  where  it  is  possible 
To  draw  a  tear  from  the  audience,  is  a  work 
That  pays  its  own  price  well. 

lo.  I  can  not  choose 

But  trust  you,  nymphs,  and  tell  you  all  ye  ask, 
In  clear  words,  though  I  sob  amid  my  speech 
In  speaking  of  the  storm-curse  sent  from  Zeus, 
And  of  my  beauty,  from  which  height  it  took 
Its  swoop  on  me,  poor  wretch  !  left  thus  deformed 
And  monstrous  to  your  eyes.     For  evermore 
Around  my  virgin-chamber,  wandering  went 
The  nightly  visions  which  entreated  me 
With  syllabled  smooth  sweetness  :  "  Blessed  maid, 
Why  lengthen  out  thy  maiden  hours,  when  fate 
Permits  the  noblest  spousal  in  the  world? 
When  Zeus  burns  with  the  arrow  of  thy  love, 
And  fain  would  touch  thy  beauty?      Maiden,  thou 
Despise  not  /ens!  depart  to  Lenu'-'s  mead 
That's  green  around  thv  father's  Hocks  and  stalls, 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  29 

Until  the  passion  of  the  heavenly  Eye 

Be  quenched  in  sight."     Such  dreams  did  all  night  long 

Constrain  me — me,  unhappy  ! — till  I  dared 

To  tell  my  father  how  they  trod  the  dark 

With  visionary  steps.     Whereat  he  sent 

His  frequent  heralds  to  the  Pythian  fane, 

And  also  to  Dodona,  and  inquired 

How  best,  by  act  or  speech,  to  please  the  gods. 

The  same  returning  brought  back  oracles 

Of  doubtful  sense,  indefinite  response, 

Dark  to  interpret ;  but  at  last  there  came 

To  Inachus  an  answer  that  was  clear, 

Thrown  straight  as  any  bolt,  and  spoken  out — 

This :  "  He  should  drive  me  from  my  home  and  land, 

And  bid  me  wander  to  the  extreme  verge 

Of  all  the  earth  ;  or,  if  he  willed  it  not, 

Should  have  a  thunder  with  a  fiery  eye 

Leap  straight  from  Zeus  to  burn  up  all  his  race 

To  the  last  root  of  it."     By  which  Loxian  word 

Subdued,  he  drove  me  forth,  and  shut  me  out, 

He  loath,  me  loath  ;  but  Zeus's  violent  bit 

Compelled  him  to  the  deed  :  when  instantly 

My  body  and  soul  were  changed  and  distraught, 

And,  horned  as  ye  see,  and  spurred  along 

By  the  fanged  insect,  with  a  maniac  leap 

I  rushed  on  to  Cenchrea's  limpid  stream, 

And  Lern6's  fountain-water.     There,  the  earth-born, 

The  herdsman  Argus,  most  immitigable 

Of  wrath,  did  find  me  out,  and  track  me  out 

With  countless  eyes  set  staring  at  my  steps ; 

And  though  an  unexpected  sudden  doom 

Drew  him  from  life,  I,  curse-tormented  still, 

Am  driven  from  land  to  land  before  the  scourge 

The  gods  hold  o'er  me.     So  thou  hast  heard  the  past ; 

And,  if  a  bitter  future  thou  canst  tell, 

Speak  on.     I  charge  thee,  do  not  flatter  me, 

Through  pity,  with  .false  words;  for  in  my  mind 

Deceiving  works  more  shame  than  torturing  doth. 


30  iiM.rs 

CHORUS 

Ah,  silence  here ! 

Nevermore,  nevermore, 

Would  I  languish  for 

The  stranger's  word 

To  thrill  in  mine  ear — 
Nevermore  for  the  wrong  and  the  woe  and  the  fear 

So  hard  to  behold, 

So  cruel  to  bear, 
Piercing  my  soul  with  a  double-edged  sword 

Of  a  sliding  cold. 

Ah,  Fate  !  ah,  me  ! 

I  shudder  to  see 
This  wandering  maid  in  her  agony. 

PrometJicus.  Grief  is  too  quick  in  thee,  and  fear  too  full ; 
Be  patient  till  thou  hast  learned  the  rest. 

Chorus.  Speak  :  teach, 

To  those  who  are  sad  already,  it  seems  sweet, 
By  clear  foreknowledge  to  make  perfect,  pain. 

Prometheus.  The  boon  ye  asked  me  first   was  lightly 

won  ; 

For  first  ye  asked  the  story  of  this  maid's  grief, 
As  her  own  lips  might  tell  it.     Now  remains 
To  list  what  other  sorrows  she  so  young 
Must  bear  from  Here".     Inachus's  child, 
O  thou !  drop  down  thy  soul  my  weighty  words, 
And  measure  out  the  landmarks  which  are  set 
To  end  thy  wandering.     Toward  the  orient  sun 
First  turn  thy  face  from  mine,  and  journey  on 
Along  the  desert-flats  till  thou  shalt  come 
Where  Scythia's  shepherd-peoples  dwell  aloft, 
Perched  in  wheeled  wagons  under  woven  roofs, 
And  twang  the  rapid  arrow  past  the  bo\v. 
Approach  them  not,  but,  siding  in  thy  course 
The  rugged  shore-rocks  resonant  to  the  sea, 

•  :irt  that  counfrv.      On  the  left  hand  dwell 
The  iron-workers,  called  the  Chalybes, 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  3! 

Of  whom  beware,  for  certes  they  are  uncouth, 

And  nowise  bland  to  strangers.     Reaching  so 

The  stream  Hybristes  (well  the  scorner  called), 

Attempt  no  passage — it  is  hard  to  pass — 

Or  ere  thou  come  to  Caucasus  itself, 

That  highest  of  mountains,  where  the  river  leaps 

The  precipice  in  his  strength.     Thou  must  toil  up 

Those  mountain-tops  that  neighbour  with  the  stars, 

And  tread  the  south  way,  and  draw  near,  at  last, 

The  Amazonian  host  that  hateth  man, 

Inhabitants  of  Themiscyra,  close 

Upon  Thermodon,  where  the  sea's  rough  jaw 

Doth  gnash  at  Salmydessa,  and  provide 

A  cruel  host  to  seamen,  and  to  ships 

A  stepdame.     They,  with  unreluctant  hand, 

Shall  lead  thee  on  and  on  till  thou  arrive 

Just  where  the  ocean-gates  show  narrowest 

On  the  Cimmerian  isthmus.     Leaving  which, 

Behooves  thee  swim  with  fortitude  of  soul 

The  strait  Maeotis.     Ay,  and  evermore 

That  traverse  shall  be  famous  on  men's  lips, 

That  strait  called  Bosporus,  the  horned  one's  road, 

So  named  because  of  thee,  who  so  wilt  pass 

From  Europe's  plain  to  Asia's  continent. 

How  think  ye,  nymphs  ?  the  king  of  gods  appears 

Impartial  in  ferocious  deeds?     Behold  ! 

The  god  desirous  of  this  mortal's  love 

Hath  cursed  her  with  these  wanderings.     Ah,  fair  child, 

Thou  hast  met  a  bitter  groom  for  bridal  troth  ! 

For  all  thou  yet  hast  heard  can  only  prove 

The  incompleted  prelude  of  thy  doom. 

lo.  Ah,  ah ! 

Prometheus.  Is't  thy  turn  now  to  shriek  and  moan  ? 
How  wilt  thou,  when  thou  hast  hearkened  what  remains? 

Chorus.  Besides  the  grief  thou   hast  told,  can  aught 
remain  ? 

Prometheus.  A  sea  of  foredoomed  evil  worked  to  storm. 


32  .KSCHYLUS 

lo.  What  boots  my  life,  then  ?  why  not  cast  myself 
Down  headlong  from  this  miserable  rock, 
That,  dashed  against  the  flats,  I  may  redeem 
My  soul  from  sorrow  ?     Better  once  to  die 
Than  day  by  day  to  suffer. 

Prometheus.  Verily, 

It  would  be  hard  for  thee  to  bear  my  woe 
For  whom  it  is  appointed  not  to  die. 
Death  frees  from  woe ;  but  I  before  me  see 
In  all  my  far  prevision  not  a  bound 
To  all  I  suffer,  ere  that  Zeus  shall  fall 
From  being  a  king. 

lo.  And  can  it  ever  be 

That  Zeus  shall  fall  from  empire  ? 

Prometheus.  Thou,  methinks, 

Wouldst  take  some  joy  to  see  it. 

lo.  Could  I  choose? 

I  who  endure  such  pangs  now,  by  that  god ! 

Prometheus.  Learn  from  me,  therefore,  that  the  event 
shall  be. 

lo.  By  whom  shall  his  imperial  sceptred  hand 
Be  emptied  so  ? 

Prometheus.       Himself  shall  spoil  himself, 
Through  his  idiotic  counsels. 

lo.  How?  declare, 

Unless  the  word  bring  evil. 

Prometheus.  He  shall  wed, 

And  in  the  marriage-bond  be  joined  to  grief. 

lo.  A  heavenly  bride,  or  human  ?     Speak  it  out, 
If  it  be  utterable. 

Prometheus.  Why  should  I  say  which  ? 

It  ought  not  to  be  uttered,  verily. 

lo.  Then 

It  is  his  wife  shall  tear  him  from  his  throne  ? 

Prometheus.  It  is  his  wife  shall  bear  a  son  to  him 
More  mighty  than  the  father. 

lo.  From  this  doom 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  33 

Hath  he  no  refuge  ? 

Prometheus.  None  :  or  ere  that  I 

Loosed  from  these  fetters — 

Jo.  Yea  :  but  who  shall  loose 

While  Zeus  is  adverse? 

Prometheus.  One  who  is  born  of  thee  : 

It  is  ordained  so. 

Io.  What  is  this  thou  sayest? 

A  son  of  mine  shall  liberate  thee  from  woe  ? 

Prometheus.  After  ten  generations  count  three  more, 
And  find  him  in  the  third. 

Io.  The  oracle 

Remains  obscure. 

Prometheus.           And  search  it  not  to  learn 
Thine  own  griefs  from  it. 

Io.  Point  me  not  to  a  good 

To  leave  me  straight  bereaved. 

Prometheus.  I  am  prepared 

To  grant  thee  one  of  two  things. 

Io.  But  which  two  ? 

Set  them  before  me ;  grant  me  power  to  choose. 

Prometheus.  I   grant  it ;    choose   now !     Shall  I  name 

aloud 

What  griefs  remain  to  wound  thee,  or  what  hand 
Shall  save  me  out  of  mine  ? 

Chorus.  Vouchsafe,  O  god, 

The  one  grace  of  the  twain  to  her  who  prays, 
The  next  to  me,  and  turn  back  neither  prayer 
Dishonoured  by  denial.     To  herself 
Recount  the  future  wandering  of  her  feet ; 
Then  point  me  to  the  looser  of  thy  chain, 
Because  I  yearn  to  know  him. 

Prometheus.  Since  ye  will, 

Of  absolute  will,  this  knowledge,  I  will  set 
No  contrary  against  it,  nor  keep  back 
A  word  of  all  ye  ask  for.     Io,  first 
To  thee  I  must  relate  thy  wandering  course 

3 


34 


AESCHYLUS 


Far  winding.     As  I  tell  it,  write  it  down 

In  thy  soul's  book  of  memories.     When  thou  hast  passed 

The  refluent  bound  that  parts  two  continents, 

Track  on  the  footsteps  of  the  orient  sun 

In  his  own  fire  across  the  roar  of  seas — 

Fly  till  thou  hast  reached  the  Gorgonaean  flats 

Beside  Cisthene.     There  the  Phorcides, 

Three  ancient  maidens,  live,  with  shape  of  swan, 

One  tooth  between  them,  and  one  common  eye, 

On  whom  the  sun  doth  never  look  at  all 

With  all  his  rays,  nor  evermore  the  moon 

When  she  looks  through  the  night.     Anear  to  whom 

Are  the  Gorgon  sisters  three,  enclothed  with  wings, 

With  twisted  snakes  for  ringlets,  man-abhorred : 

There  is  no  mortal  gazes  in  their  face, 

And  gazing  can  breathe  on.     I  speak  of  such 

To  guard  thee  from  their  horror.     Ay,  and  list 

Another  tale  of  a  dreadful  sight :  beware 

The  Griffins,  those  unbarking  dogs  of  Zeus, 

Those  sharp-mouthed  dogs  ! — and  the  Arimaspian  host 

Of  one-eyed  horsemen,  habiting  beside 

The  river  of  Pluto  that  runs  bright  with  gold: 

Approach  them  not,  beseech  thee.     Presently 

Thou'lt  come  to  a  distant  land,  a  dusky  tribe 

Of  dwellers  at  the  fountain  of  the  Sun, 

Whence  flows  the  River  ^thiops ;  wind  along 

Its  banks,  and  turn  off  at  the  cataracts, 

Just  as  the  Nile  pours  from  the  Bybline  hills 

His  holy  and  sweet  wave :  his  course  shall  guide 

Thine  own  to  that  triangular  Nile-ground 

Where,  lo,  is  ordained  for  thee  and  thine 

A  lengthened  exile.     Have  I  said  in  this 

Aught  darkly  or  incompletely  ? — now  repeat 

The  question,  make  the  knowledge  fuller!     Lo, 

I  have  more  leisure  than  I  covet  here. 

Chorus.  If  thou  canst  tell  us  aught  that's  left  untold, 
Or  loosely  told,  of  her  most  dreary  flight, 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  35 

Declare  it  straight ;  but,  if  thou  hast  uttered  all, 
Grant  us  that  latter  grace  for  which  we  prayed, 
Remembering  how  we  prayed  it. 

Prometheus.  She  has  heard 

The  uttermost  of  her  wandering.     There  it  ends. 
But,  that  she  may  be  certain  not  to  have  heard 
All  vainly,  I  will  speak  what  she  endured 
Ere  coming  hither,  and  invoke  the  past 
To  prove  my  prescience  true.     And  so— to  leave 
A  multitude  of  words,  and  pass  at  once 
To  the  subject  of  thy  course — when  thou  hadst  gone 
To  those  Molossian  plains  which  sweep  around 
Dodona  shouldering  Heaven,  whereby  the  fane 
Of  Zeus  Thesprotian  keepeth  oracle, 
And,  wonder  past  belief,  where  oaks  do  wave 
Articulate  adjurations — (ay,  the  same 
Saluted  thee  in  no  perplexed  phrase, 
But  clear  with  glory,  noble  wife  of  Zeus 
That  shouldst  be,  there  some  sweetness  took  thy  sense  !) 
Thou  didst  rush  farther  onward,  stung  along 
The  ocean-shore,  toward  Rhea's  mighty  bay, 
And,  tossed  back  from  it,  wast  tossed  to  it  again 
In  stormy  evolution :  and  know  well, 
In  coming  time  that  hollow  of  the  sea 
Shall  bear  the  name  Ionian,  and  present 
A  monument  of  lo's  passage  through, 
Unto  all  mortals.     Be  these  words  the  signs 
Of  my  soul's  power  to  look  beyond  the  veil 
Of  visible  things.     The  rest  to  you  and  her 
I  will  declare  in  common  audience,  nymphs, 
Returning  thither  where  my  speech  brake  off. 
There  is  a  town,  Canobus,  built  upon 
The  earth's  fair  margin,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Nile, 
And  on  the  mound  washed  up  by  it  :  lo,  there 
Shall  Zeus  give  back  to  thee  thy  perfect  mind, 
And  only  by  the  pressure  and  the  touch 
Of  a  hand  not  terrible ;  and  thou  to  Zeus 


36  yi'SCHVLUS 

Shalt  bear  a  dusky  son  who  shall  be  called 

Thence  Epaphus,  Touched.     That  son  shall  pluck  the  fruit 

Of  all  that  land  wide-watered  by  the  flow 

Of  Nile  ;  but  after  him,  when  counting  out 

As  far  as  the  fifth  full  generation,  then 

Full  fifty  maidens,  a  fair  woman-race, 

Shall  back  to  Argos  turn  reluctantly, 

To  fly  the  proffered  nuptials  of  their  kin, 

Their  father's  brothers.     These  being  passion-struck, 

Like  falcons  bearing  hard  on  flying  doves, 

Shall  follow  hunting  at  a  quarry  of  love 

They  should  not  hunt ;  till  envious  Heaven  maintain 

A  curse  betwixt  that  beauty  and  their  desire, 

And  Greece  receive  them,  to  be  overcome 

In  murtherous  woman-war  by  fierce  red  hands 

Kept  savage  by  the  night.     For  every  wife 

Shall  slay  a  husband,  dyeing  deep  in  blood 

The  sword  of  a  double  edge — (I  wish  indeed 

As  fair  a  marriage-joy  to  all  my  foes !) 

One  bride  alone  shall  fail  to  smite  to  death 

The  head  upon  her  pillow,  touched  with  love 

Made  impotent  of  purpose,  and  impelled 

To  choose  the  lesser  evil — shame  on  her  cheeks, 

Than  blood-guilt  on  her  hands ;  which  bride  shall  bear 

A  royal  race  in  Argos.     Tedious  speech 

Were  needed  to  relate  particulars 

Of  these  things;  'tis  enough  that  from  her  seed 

Shall  spring  the  strong  He,  famous  with  the  bow, 

Whose  arm  shall  break  my  fetters  off.     Behold, 

My  mother  Themis,  that  old  Titaness, 

Delivered  to  me  such  an  oracle ; 

But  how  and  when,  I  should  be  long  to  speak, 

And  thou,  in  hearing,  wouldst  not  gain  at  all. 

lo.          Eleleu,  eleleu ! 

Ilmv  the  spasm  and  the  pain, 
And  the  lire  on  (lie  brain, 

Strike,  buniiii:;  me  through! 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  37 

How  the  sting  of  the  curse,  all  aflame  as  it  flew, 

Pricks  me  onward  again ! 

How  my  heart  in  its  terror  is  spurning  my  breast, 
And  my  eyes  like  the  wheels  of  a  chariot  roll  round ! 
I  am  whirled  from  my  course,  to  the  east,  to  the  west, 
In  the  whirlwind  of  frenzy  all  madly  inwound ; 
And  my  mouth  is  unbridled  for  anguish  and  hate, 
And  my  words  beat  in  vain,  in  wild  storms  of  unrest, 

On  the  sea  of  my  desolate  fate. 

[Io  rushes  out. 
CHORUS— strophe 

Oh,  wise  was  he,  oh,  wise  was  he, 
Who  first  within  his  spirit  knew, 
And  with  his  tongue  declared  it  true, 
That  love  comes  best  that  comes  unto 

The  equal  of  degree  ! 
And  that  the  poor  and  that  the  low 
Should  seek  no  love  from  those  above, 
Whose  souls  are  fluttered  with  the  flow 
Of  airs  about  their  golden  height, 
Or  proud  because  they  see  arow 

Ancestral  crowns  of  light. 

• 

Antistrophe 
Oh,  never,  never,  may  ye,  Fates, 

Behold  me  with  your  awful  eyes 

Lift  mine  too  fondly  up  the  skies 
Where  Zeus  upon  the  purple  waits ! 

Nor  let  me  step  too  near,  too  near, 
To  any  suitor  bright  from  heaven  ; 

Because  I  see,  because  I  fear, 
This  loveless  maiden  vexed  and  laden 
By  this  fell  curse  of  Her6,  driven 

On  wanderings  dread  and  drear. 

Epode 

Nay,  grant  an  equal  troth  instead 
Of  nuptial  love,  to  bind  me  by ! 


38  AESCHYLUS 

It  will  not  hurt,  I  shall  not  dread 

To  meet  it  in  reply. 
But  let  not  love  from  those  above 
Revert  and  fix  me,  as  I  said, 

With  that  inevitable  Eye  ! 
I  have  no  sword  to  fight  that  fight, 
I  have  no  strength  to  tread  that  path, 
I  know  not  if  my  nature  hath 
The  power  to  bear,  I  can  not  see 
Whither  from  Zeus's  infinite 
I  have  the  power  to  flee. 

Prometheus.  Yet  Zeus,  albeit  most  absolute  of  will, 
Shall  turn  to  meekness — such  a  marriage-rite 
He  holds  in  preparation,  which  anon 
Shall  thrust  him  headlong  from  his  gerent  seat 
Adown  the  abysmal  void ;  and  so  the  curse 
His  father  Chronos  muttered  in  his  fall, 
As  he  fell  from  his  ancient  throne  and  cursed, 
Shall  be  accomplished  wholly.     No  escape 
From  all  that  ruin  shall  the  filial  Zeus 
Find  granted  to  him  from  any  of  his  gods 
Unless  I  teach  him.     I  the  refuge  know, 
And  I,  the  means.     Now,  therefore,  let  him  sit 
And  brave  the  imminent  doom,  and  fix  his  faith 
On  his  supernal  noises  hurtling  on 
With  restless  hand  the  bolt  that  breathes  out  fire ; 
For  these  things  shall  not  help  him,  none  of  them, 
Nor  hinder  his  perdition  when  he  falls 
To  shame,  and  lower  than  patience :  such  a  foe 
He  doth  himself  prepare  against  himself, 
A  wonder  of  unconquerable  hate, 
An  organizer  of  sublimer  fire 
Than  glares  in  lightnings,  and  of  grander  sound 
Than  aught  the  thunder  rolls,  out-thundering  it, 
With  power  to  shatter  in  Poseidon's  fist 
The  trident-spear,  which,  while  it  plagues  the  sea, 


PROMETHEUS   BOUND  39 

Doth  shake  the  shores  around  it.     Ay,  and  Zeus, 
Precipitated  thus,  shall  learn  at  length 
The  difference  betwixt  rule  and  servitude. 

Chorus.  Thou  makest  threats  for  Zeus  of  thy  desires. 

Prometheus.  I  tell  you  all  these  things  shall  be  fulfilled 
Even  so  as  I  desire  them. 

Chorus.  Must  we,  then, 

Look  out  for  one  shall  come  to  master  Zeus? 

Prometheus.  These  chains  weigh  lighter  than  his  sor- 
rows shall. 

Chorus.  How  art  thou  not  afraid  to  utter  such  words  ? 

Prometheus.  What  should  I  fear,  who  can  not  die  ? 

Chorus.  But  he 

Can  visit  thee  with  dreader  woe  than  death's. 

Prometheus.  Why,  let  him  do  it !     I  am  here,  prepared 
For  all  things  and  their  pangs. 

Chorus.  The  wise  are  they 

Who  reverence  Adrasteia. 

Prometheus.  Reverence  thou, 

Adore  thou,  flatter  thou,  whomever  reigns, 
Whenever  reigning  !     But  for  me,  your  Zeus 
Is  less  than  nothing.     Let  him  act  and  reign 
His  brief  hour  out  according  to  his  will : 
He  will  not,  therefore,  rule  the  gods  too  long. 
But  lo !  I  see  that  courier-god  of  Zeus, 
That  new-made  menial  of  the  new-crowned  king : 
He,  doubtless,  comes  to  announce  to  us  something  new. 

HERMES  enters 

Hermes.  I  speak  to  thee,  the  sophist,  the  talker-down 
Of  scorn  by  scorn,  the  sinner  against  gods, 
The  reverencer  of  men,  the  thief  of  fire — 
I  speak  to  thee  and  adjure  thee :  Zeus  requires 
Thy  declaration  of  what  marriage-rite 
Thus  moves  thy  vaunt,  and  shall  hereafter  cause 
His  fall  from  empire.     Do  not  wrap  thy  speech 
In  riddles,  but  speak  clearly.     Never  cast 


40  .v.scHYi.rs 

Ambiguous  paths,  Prometheus,  for  my  feet, 
Since  Zeus,  thou  mayst  perceive,  is  scarcely  won 
To  mercy  by  such  means. 

Prometheus.  A  speech  well-mouthed 

In  the  utterance,  and  full-minded  in  the  sense, 
As  doth  befit  a  servant  of  the  gods ! 
New  gods,  ye  newly  reign,  and  think,  forsooth, 
Ye  dwell  in  towers  too  high  for  any  dart 
To  carry  a  wound  there !     Have  I  not  stood  by 
While  two  kings  fell  from  thence?  and  shall  1  not 
Behold  the  third,  the  same  who  rules  you  now, 
Fall,  shamed  to  sudden  ruin?     Do  I  seem 
To  tremble  and  quail  before  your  modern  gods? 
Far  be  it  from  me  !     For  thyself  depart ; 
Retread  thy  steps  in  haste.     To  all  thou  hast  asked 
I  answer  nothing. 

Hermes.  Such  a  wind  of  pride 

Impelled  thee  of  yore  full  sail  upon  these  rocks. 

Prometheus.  I    would   not  barter — learn    thou   soothly 

that  !— 

My  suffering  for  thy  service.     I  maintain 
It  is  a  nobler  thing  to  serve  these  rocks 
Than  live  a  faithful  slave  to  Father  Zeus. 
Thus  upon  scorners  I  retort  their  scorn. 

Hermes.  It  seems  that  thou  dost  glory  in  thy  despair. 

Prometheus.   I  glory  ?     Would  my  foes  did  glory  so, 
And  I  stood  by  to  see  them  ! — naming  whom, 
Thou  art  not  unremembered. 

Hermes.  Dost  thou  charge 

Me  also  with  the  blame  of  thy  mischance? 

Prometheus.  I  tell  thee  I  loathe  the  universal  gods, 
Who,  for  the  good  I  gave  them,  rendered  back 
The  ill  of  their  injustice. 

Hermes.  Thou  art  mad, 

Thou  art  raving,  Titan,  at  the  fever-height. 

Prometheus.  If  it  be  madness  to  abhor  my  foes, 
May  I  be  mad  ! 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  41 

Hermes.         If  thou  wert  prosperous, 
Thou  wouldst  be  unendurable. 

Prometheus.  Alas ! 

Hermes.  Zeus  knows  not  that  word. 

Prometheus.  But  maturing  Time 

Teaches  all  things. 

Hermes.  Howbeit,  thou  hast  not  learned 

The  wisdom  yet,  thou  needest. 

Prometheus.  If  I  had, 

I  should  not  talk  thus  with  a  slave  like  thee. 

Hermes.  No  answer  thou  vouchsafest,  I  believe, 
To  the  great  Sire's  requirement. 

Prometheus.  Verily 

I  owe  him  grateful  service,  and  should  pay  it. 

Hermes.  Why,  thou  dost  mock  me,  Titan,  as  I  stood 
A  child  before  thy  face. 

Prometheus.  No  child,  forsooth, 

But  yet  more  foolish  than  a  foolish  child, 
If  thou  expect  that  I  should  answer  aught 
Thy  Zeus  can  ask.     No  torture  from  his  hand, 
Nor  any  machination  in  the  world, 
Shall  force  mine  utterance  ere  he  loose,  himself, 
These  cankerous  fetters  from  me.     For  the  rest, 
Let  him  now  hurl  his  blanching  lightnings  down, 
And  with  his  white-winged  snows,  and  mutterings  deep 
Of  subterranean  thunders,  mix  all  things, 
Confound  them  in  disorder.     None  of  this 
Shall  bend  my  sturdy  will,  and  make  me  speak 
The  name  of  his  dethroner  who  shall  come. 

Hermes.  Can  this  avail  thee  ?     Look  to  it ! 

Prometheus.  Long  ago 

It  was  looked  forward  to,  precounselled  of. 

Hermes.  Vain  god,  take  righteous  courage  !     Dare  for 

once 

To  apprehend  and  front  thine  agonies 
With  a  just  prudence. 

Prometheus.  Vainly  dost  thou  chafe 

3 


42  HYLUS 

• 

My  soul  with  exhortation,  as  yonder  sea 

Goes  beating  on  the  rock.     Oh  !  think  no  more 

That  I,  fear-struck  by  Zeus  to  a  woman's  mind. 

Will  supplicate  him,  loathed  as  he  is, 

With  feminine  upliftings  of  my  hands, 

To  break  these  chains.     Far  from  me  be  the  thought ! 

Hermes.  I  have,  indeed,  methinks,  said  much  in  vain, 
For  still  thy  heart  beneath  my  showers  of  prayers 
Lies  dry  and  hard,  nay,  leaps  like  a  young  horse 
Who  bites  against  the  new  bit  in  his  teeth, 
And  tugs  and  struggles  against  the  new-tried  rein, 
Still  fiercest  in  the  feeblest  thing  of  all, 
Which  sophism  is  ;  since  absolute  will  disjoined 
From  perfect  mind  is  worse  than  weak.     Behold, 
Unless  my  words  persuade  thee,  what  a  blast 
And  whirlwind  of  inevitable  woe 
Must  sweep  persuasion  through  thee  !     For  at  first 
The  Father  will  split  up  this  jut  of  rock 
With  the  great  thunder  and  the  bolted  flame, 
And  hide  thy  body  where  a  hinge  of  stone 
Shall  catch  it  like  an  arm  ;  and  when  thou  hast  passed 
A  long  black  time  within,  thou  shalt  come  out 
To  front  the  sun  while  Zeus's  winged  hound, 
The  strong,  carnivorous  eagle,  shall  wheel  down 
To  meet  thee,  self-called  to  a  daily  feast, 
And  set  his  fierce  beak  in  thee,  and  tear  off 
The  long  rags  of  thy  flesh,  and  batten  deep 
Upon  thy  dusky  liver.     Do  not  look 
For  any  end,  moreover,  to  this  curse, 
Or  ere  some  god  appear  to  accept  thy  pangs 
On  his  own  head  vicarious,  and  descend 
With  unreluctant  step  the  darks  of  hell 
And  gloomy  abysses  around  Tartarus. 
Then  ponder  this — this  threat  is  not  a  growth 
Ot  vain  invention  ;  it  is  spoken  and  meant : 
King  Zeus's  mouth  is  impotent  to  lie, 
Consummating  the  utterance  by  the  act. 


PROMETHEUS    BOUND  43 

So,  look  to  it,  thou  !  take  heed,  and  nevermore 
Forget  good  counsel  to  indulge  self-will. 

Chorus.  Our  Hermes  suits  his  reasons  to  the  times, 
At  least  I  think  so,  since  he  bids  thee  drop 
Self-will  for  prudent  counsel.     Yield  to  him  ! 
When  the  wise  err,  their  wisdom  makes  their  shame. 
Prometheus.  Unto  me  the  foreknower,  this  mandate  of 

power 

He  cries,  to  reveal  it. 
What's  strange  in  my  fate,  if  I  suffer  from  hate 

At  the  hour  that  I  feet  it  ? 
Let  the  locks  of  the  lightning,  all  bristling  and  whitening, 

Flash,  coiling  me  round, 
While    the    ether    goes    surging     'neath     thunder    and 

scourging 

Of  wild  winds  unbound  ! 

Let  the  blast  of  the  firmament  whirl  from  its  place 
The  earth  rooted  below, 

« 

And  the  brine  of  the  ocean,  in  rapid  emotion, 

Be  driven  in  the  face 

Of  the  stars  up  in  heaven,  as  they  walk  to  and  fro  ! 
Let  him  hurl  me  anon  into  Tartarus — on — 

To  the  blackest  degree, 

With  Necessity's  vortices  strangling  me  down  ! 
But  he  can  not  join  death  to  a  fate,meant  for  me ! 

Hermes.    Why,   the    words    that    he    speaks    and    the 

thoughts  that  he  thinks 
Are  maniacal ! — add, 
If  the  Fate  who  hath  bound  him  should  loose  not  the  links, 

He  were  utterly  mad. 
Then  depart  ye  who  groan  with  him, 
Leaving  to  moan  with  him  ; 

Go  in  haste  !  lest  the  roar  of  the  thunder  anearing 
Should  blast  you  to  idiocy,  living  and  hearing. 

Chorus.  Change  thy  speech  for  another,  thy  thought 

for  a  new, 
If  to  move  me  and  teach  me  indeed  be  thy  care  ; 


44 


AESCHYLUS 


For  thy  words  swerve  so  far  from  the  loyal  and  true 

That  the  thunder  of  Zeus  seems  more  easy  to  bear. 
How  !  couldst  teach  me  to  venture  such  vileness  ?  behold  ! 

I  choose  with  this  victim  this  anguish  foretold ! 
I  recoil  from  the  traitor  in  haste  and  disdain, 
And  I  know  that  the  curse  of  the  treason  is  worse 

Than  the  pang  of  the  chain. 
Hermes.  Then  remember,  O  nymphs,  what  I  tell  you 

before, 
Nor,  when  pierced  by  the  arrows  that  At6  will  throw 

you, 
Cast  blame  on  your  fate,  and  declare  evermore 

That  Zeus  thrust  you  on  anguish  he  did  not  foreshow 

you. 
Nay,  verily,  nay !  for  ye  perish  anon 

For  your  deed,  by  your  choice.     By  no  blindness  of 

doubt, 

No  abruptness  of  doom,  but  by  madness  alone, 
In  the  great  net  of  At6,  whence  none  cometh  out, 

Ye  are  wound  and  undone. 
Prometheus.  Ay  !  in  act  now,  in  word  now  no  more, 

Earth  is  rocking  in  space. 

And  the  thunders  crash  up  with  a  roar  upon  roar, 
And  the  eddying  lightnings  flash  fire  in  my  face, 
And    the  whirlwinds   are  whirling  the  dust   round   and 

round, 

And  the  blasts  of  the  winds  universal  leap  free, 
And  blow  each  upon  each  with  a  passion  of  sound, 
And  ether  goes  mingling  in  storm  with  the  sea. 
Such  a  curse  on  my  head,  in  a  manifest  dread, 

From  the  hand  of  your  Zeus  has  been  hurtled  along. 
Oh,  my  mother's  fair  glory  !     O  ^Ether,  enringing 
All  eyes  with  the  sweet  common  light  of  thy  bringing ! 
Dost  see  how  I  suffer  this  wrong  ? 


THE  AGAMEMNON  OF 
AESCHYLUS 

TRANSLATED    BY 

ROBERT   POTTER 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS 


WATCHMAN. 

CLYTEMNESTRA. 

HERALD. 

AGAMEMNON. 

CASSANDRA. 


CHORUS  OF  ARGIVE  SENATORS. 
SCENE  :  Argos,  before  the  Palace  of  Agamemnon 


AGAMEMNON 


THE  WATCHMAN.    Ye  fav'ring  gods,  relieve  me 
from  this  toil : 
Fixed,  as  a  dog,  on  Agamemnon's  roof 
I  watch  the  livelong  year,  observing  hence 
The  host  of  stars,  that  in  the  spangled  skies 
Take  their  bright  stations,  and  to  mortals  bring 
Winter  and  summer;  radiant  rulers,  when 
They  set,  or  rising,  glitter  through  the  night. 
Here  now  I  watch,  if  haply  I  may  see 
The  blazing  torch,  whose  flame  brings  news  from  Troy, 
The  signal  of  its  ruin :  these  high  hopes 
My  royal  mistress,  thinking  on  her  lord, 
Feeds  in  her  heart.     Meanwhile  the  dews  of  night 
Fall  on  my  couch,  unvisited  by  dreams ; 
For  fear,  lest  sleep  should  close  my  eyes,  repels 
The  soft  intruder.     When  my  spirits  prompt  me 
To  raise  the  song,  or  hum  the  sullen  notes 
Preventing  slumber,  then  I  sigh,  and  wail 
The  state  of  this  unhappy  house,  no  more 
Well-ordered  as  of  old.     But  may  my  toils 
Be  happily  relieved  !     Blaze,  thou  bright  flame, 
Herald  of  joy,  blaze  through  the  gloomy  shades — 
And  it  does  blaze.     Hail,  thou  auspicious  flame, 
That  streaming  through  the  night  denouncest  joy, 
Welcomed  with  many  a  festal  dance  in  Argos ! 
In  the  queen's  ear  I'll  holloa  this,  and  rouse  her 

49 


50  HYLUS 

From  her  soft  couch  with  speed,  that  she  may  teach 

The  royal  dome  to  echo  with  the  strains 

Of  choral  warblings  greeting  this  blest  fire, 

Bright  sign  that  Troy  is  taken.     Nor  shall  I 

Forbear  the  prelude  to  the  dance  before  her : 

For  by  this  watch,  so  prosperously  concluded, 

I  to  my  masters  shall  assure  good  fortune. 

Shall  I  then  see  my  king  returned,  once  more 

To  grace  this  house  ?  and  shall  this  hand  once  more 

Hang  on  his  friendly  hand  ?     I  could  unfold 

A  tale.     But,  hush  ;  my  tongue  is  chained  :  these  walls, 

Could  they  but  speak,  would  make  discoveries. 

There  are  who  know  this  ;  and  to  them  this  hint 

Were  plain :  to  those  that  know  it  not,  mysterious. 

Chorus.    The  tenth  slow  year  rolls  on,  since  great  in 

arms 

The  noble  sons  of  Atreus,  each  exalted 
To  majesty  and  empire,  royal  brothers, 
Led  hence  a  thousand  ships,  the  Argive  fleet, 
Big  with  the  fate  of  Priam  and  of  Troy  ; 
A  warlike  preparation  ;  their  bold  breasts 
Breathing  heroic  ardour  to  high  deeds ; 
Like  vultures,  which,  their  unplumed  offspring  lost, 
Whirl  many  a  rapid  flight,  for  that  their  toil    , 
To  guard  their  young  was  vain :  till  some  high  power, 
For  they  are  dear  to  Phoebus,  dear  to  Pan, 
And  Jove  with  pity  hears  their  shrill-voiced  grief, 
And  sends,  though  late,  the  fury  to  avenge 
Their  plundered  nests  on  the  unpitying  spoilers. 
So  now  the  power  of  hospitable  Jove 
Arms  against  Paris,  for  th'  oft-wedded  dame, 
The  sons  of  Atreus,  bent  to  plunge  the  hosts 
Of  Greece  and  Troy  in  all  the  toils,  that  sink 
The  body  down,  the  firm  knee  bowed  in  dust, 
And  the  strong  spear,  ere  conquest  crowns  their  helms, 
Shivered  in  battle.     These  are  what  they  are, 
And  fate  directs  th'  event:  nor  the  bent  knee, 


AGAMEMNON 

Libation  pure,  or  supplicating  tear, 

Can  soothe  the  stern  rage  of  those  merciless  powers 

In  whose  cold  shrine  no  hallowed  flame  ascends. 

But  we,  our  age-enfeebled  limbs  unfit 

For  martial  toils,  inglorious  here  remain, 

The  staff  supporting  our  weak  steps,  like  children : 

For  as  the  infant  years  have  not  attained 

The  military  vigour,  withered  age 

Crawls  through  the  streets  like  helpless  infancy, 

And  passes  as  a  day-dream.     But  what  tidings, 

What  circumstances  of  fair  event  hath  reached 

Thy  royal  ears,  daughter  of  Tyndarus, 

Inducing  thee  to  send  the  victims  round  ? 

The  shrines  of  all  the  gods,  whose  guardian  cares 

Watch  o'er  this  state,  be  they  enthroned  in  heaven, 

Or  rule  beneath  the  earth,  blaze  with  thy  presents ; 

And  from  th'  imperial  dome  a  lengthened  line 

Of  torches  shoot  their  lustre  to  the  skies. 

O  tell  me  what  is  fit  for  me  to  know, 

And  prudence  suffers  to  be  told  :  speak  peace 

To  this  anxiety,  which  one  while  swells 

Presaging  ill,  and  one  while  from  the  victims 

Catches  a  gleam  of  hope,  whose  cheering  ray 

Breaks  through  the  gloom  that  darkens  o'er  my  soul. 

Strophe 
It  swells  upon  my  soul :  I  feel  the  power 

To  hail  th'  auspicious  hour, 
When,  their  brave  hosts  marching  in  firm  array, 

The  heroes  led  the  way. 
The  fire  of  youth  glows  in  each  vein, 
And  heaven-born  confidence  inspires  the  strain. 

Pleased  the  omen  to  record, 
That  to  Troy's  ill-fated  strand 

Led  each  monarch,  mighty  lord, 
Led  the  bold  confederate  band, 
The  strong  spear  quiv'ring  in  their  vengeful  hand. 


AESCHYLUS 

Full  in  each  royal  chieftain's  view, 
A  royal  eagle  whirls  his  flight ; 
In  plumage  one  of  dusky  hue, 
And  one  his  dark  wings  edged  with  white ; 
Swift  to  th'  imperial  mansion  take  their  way, 
And  in  their  armed  talons  bear, 
Seized  in  its  flight,  a  pregnant  hare, 
And  in  those  splendid  seats  enjoy  their  prey. 

Sound  high  the  strain,  the  swelling  notes  prolong, 
Till  conquest  listens  to  the  raptured  song. 

Antistrophe 
The  venerable  seer,  whose  skill  divine 

Knows  what  the  Fates  design, 
On  each  bold  chief,  that  for  the  battle  burns, 

His  glowing  eyeball  turns  ; 
And  thus  in  high  prophetic  strains 
The  rav'ning  eagles  and  their  prey  explains: 

"  Priam's  haughty  town  shall  fall, 
Slow  they  roll,  the  destined  hours, 

Fate  and  fury  shake  her  wall, 
Vengeance  wide  the  ruin  pours, 
And  conquest  seizes  all  her  treasured  stores. 
Ah !  may  no  storm  from  th'  angry  sky 
Burst  dreadful  o'er  this  martial  train, 

Nor  check  their  ardour,  flaming  high 
To  pour  the  war  o'er  Troy's  proud  plain ! 
Wrath  kindles  in  the  chaste  Diana's  breast: 
Gorged  with  the  pregnant  mother's  blood, 
And,  ere  the  birth,  her  hapless  brood, 
Hell-hounds  of  Jove,  she  hates  your  horrid  feast. 

Sound  high  the  strain,  the  swelling  notes  prolong, 
Till  conquest  listens  to  the  raptured  song. 


AGAMEMNON  53 

Epode 

"  The  virgin  goddess  of  the  chase, 
Fair  from  the  spangled  dewdrops  that  adorn 

The  breathing  flowrets  of  the  morn, 

Protectress  of  the  infant  race 

Of  all  that  haunt  the  tangled  grove, 

Or  o'er  the  rugged  mountains  rove, 
She,  beauteous  queen,  commands  me  to  declare 

What  by  the  royal  birds  is  shown, 

Signal  of  conquest,  omen  fair, 

But  darkened  by  her  awful  frown. 

God  of  the  distant-wounding  bow, 
Thee,  Paean,  thee  I  call ;  hear  us,  and  aid  ; 

Ah  !  may  not  the  offended  maid 

Give  the  sullen  gales  to  blow, 

Adverse  to  this  eager  train, 

And  bar  th'  unnavigable  main  ; 

Nor  other  sacrifice  demand, 
At  whose  barbaric  rites  no  feast  is  spread ; 

But  discord  rears  her  horrid  head, 

And  calls  around  her  murd'rous  band : 

Leagued  with  hate,  and  fraud,  and  fear, 

Nor  king,  nor  husband,  they  revere  ; 

Indignant  o'er  a  daughter  weep, 

And  burn  to  stamp  their  vengeance  deep  ?  " 
Prophetic  thus  the  reverend  Chalcas  spoke, 

Marking  th'  imperial  eagles'  whirling  wings ; 
From  his  rapt  lips  the  joyful  presage  broke, 
Success  and  glory  to  th'  embattled  kings. 

Sound  high  the  strain,  th'  according  notes  prolong, 
Till  conquest  listens  to  the  raptured  song. 

Strophe  I 
O  thou,  that  sitt'st  supreme  above, 

Whatever  name  thou  deign'st  to  hear, 
Unblamed  may  I  pronounce  thee  Jove  ! 


54  /ESCHYLUS 

Immersed  in  deep  and  holy  thought, 
If  rightly  I  conjecture  aught, 

Thy  power  I  must  revere  : 
Else  vainly  tossed  the  anxious  mind 
Nor  truth,  nor  calm  repose,  can  find. 
Feeble  and  helpless  to  the  light 

The  proudest  of  man's  race  arose, 
Though  now,  exulting  in  his  might, 

Dauntless  he  rushes  on  his  foes ; 
Great  as  he  is,  in  dust  he  lies; 
He  meets  a  greater,  and  he  dies. 

Antistrophe  i 
He  that,  when  conquest  brightens  round, 

Swells  the  triumphal  strain  to  Jove, 
Shall  ever  with  success  be  crowned. 
Yet  often,  when  to  wisdom's  seat 
Jove  deigns  to  guide  man's  erring  feet, 

His  virtues  to  improve  ; 
He  to  affliction  gives  command 
To  form  him  with  her  chastening  hand  : 
The  memory  of  her  rigid  lore, 

On  the  sad  heart  imprinted  deep, 
Attends  him  through  day's  active  hour, 

Nor  in  the  night  forsakes  his  sleep. 
Instructed  thus  thy  grace  we  own, 
O  thou,  that  sittest  on  Heaven's  high  throne  ! 

Strophe  2 
When  now  in  Aulis'  rolling  bay 

His  course  the  refluent  floods  refused, 
And  sickening  with  inaction  lay 
In  dead  repose  th'  exhausted  train, 
Did  the  firm  chief  of  chance  complain? 

No  prophet  he  accused  ; 
His  eyes  toward  Chalcis  bent  he  stood, 
And  silent  marked  the  surging  flood. 


AGAMEMNON  55 

Sullen  the  winds  from  Strymon  sweep, 

Mischance  and  famine  in  the  blast, 
Ceaseless  torment  the  angry  deep, 

The  cordage  rend,  the  vessels  waste, 
With  tedious  and 'severe  delay 
Wear  the  fresh  flower  of  Greece  away. 

Antistrophe  2 

When,  in  Diana's  name,  the  seer 

Pronounced  the  dreadful  remedy 
More  than  the  stormy  sea  severe, 
Each  chieftain  stood  in  grief  profound, 
And  smote  his  sceptre  on  the  ground : 

Then  with  a  rising  sigh 
The  monarch,  while  the  big  tears  roll, 
Expressed  the  anguish  of  his  soul : 
"  Dreadful  the  sentence  :  not  t'  obey, 

Vengeance  and  ruin  close  us  round : 
Shall  then  the  sire  his  daughter  slay, 

In  youth's  fresh  bloom  with  beauty  crowned  ? 
Shall  on  these  hands  her  warm  blood  flow  ? 
Cruel  alternative  of  woe ! 

Strophe  j 

"  This  royal  fleet,  this  martial  host, 

The  cause  of  Greece  shall  I  betray, 
The  monarch  in  the  father  lost? 
To  calm  these  winds,  to  smooth  this  flood, 
Diana's  wrath  a  virgin's  blood 

Demands :  'tis  ours  t'  obey." 
Bound  in  necessity's  iron  chain 
Reluctant  Nature  strives  in  vain : 
Impure,  unholy  thoughts  succeed, 

And  darkening  o'er  his  bosom  roll ; 
While  madness  prompts  the  ruthless  deed, 

Tyrant  of  the  misguided  soul : 


56  AESCHYLUS 

Stern  on  the  fleet  he  rolls  his  eyes, 
And  dooms  the  hateful  sacrifice. 

Antistrophe  j 

Armed  in  a  woman's  cause,  around 

Fierce  for  the  war  the  princes  rose ; 
No  place  affrighted  pity  found. 
In  vain  the  virgin's  streaming  tear, 
Her  cries  in  vain,  her  pleading  prayer, 

Her  agonizing  woes. 
Could  the  fond  father  hear  unmoved  ? 
The  Fates  decreed  :  the  king  approved : 
Then  to  th'  attendants  gave  command 

Decent  her  flowing  robes  to  bind ; 
Prone  on  the  altar  with  strong  hand 

To  place  her,  like  a  spotless  hind  ; 
And  check  her  sweet  voice,  that  no  sound 
Unhallowed  might  the  rites  confound. 

Epode 
Rent  on  the  earth  her  maiden  veil  she  throws, 

That  emulates  the  rose  ; 
And  on  the  sad  attendants  rolling 
The  trembling  lustre  of  her  dewy  eyes, 

Their  grief-impassioned  souls  controlling, 
That  ennobled,  modest  grace, 
Which  the  mimic  pencil  tries 
In  imaged  form  to  trace, 

The  breathing  picture  shows : 
And  as,  amid  his  festal  pleasures, 
Her  father  oft  rejoiced  to  hear 
Her  voice  in  soft  mellifluous  measures 

Warble  the  sprightly-fancied  air: 
So  now  in  act  to  speak  the  virgin  stands : 
But  when,  the  third  libation  paid, 

She  heard  her  father's  dread  commands 
Enjoining  silence,  she  obeyed  : 


AGAMEMNON  57 

And  for  her  country's  good, 
With  patient,  meek,  submissive  mind 

To  her  hard  fate  resigned, 
Poured  out  the  rich  stream  of  her  blood. 

What  since  hath  past  I  know  not,  nor  relate ; 

But  never  did  the  prophet  speak  in  vain, 
Th'  afflicted,  anxious  for  his  future  fate, 

Looks  forward,  and  with  hope  relieves  his  pain. 

But  since  th'  inevitable  ill  will  come, 
Much  knowledge  to  much  misery  is  allied ; 

Why  strive  we  then  t'  anticipate  the  doom, 
Which  happiness  and  wisdom  wish  to  hide? 

Yet  let  this  careful,  age-enfeebled  band 

Breathe  from  our  inmost  soul  one  ardent  vow, 

Now  the  sole  guardians  of  this  Apian  land, 
"  May  fair  success  with  glory  bind  her  brow ! " 

CLYTEMNESTRA,  CHORUS 

Chorus.  With  reverence,  Clytemnestra,  I  approach 
Thy  greatness  ;  honour  due  to  her  that  fills 
The  royal  seat,  yet  vacant  of  its  lord. 
If  aught  of  glad  import  hath  reached  thy  ear. 
Or  to  fair  hope  the  victim  bleeds,  I  wish, 
But  with  submission  to  thy  will,  to  hear. 

Cly.  The  joy-importing  Morn  springs,  as  they  say, 
From  Night,  her  mother.     Thou  shalt  hear  a  joy 
Beyond  thy  hopes  to  hear :  the  town  of  Priam 
Is  fallen  beneath  the  conquering  arms  of  Greece. 

Chor.  What  saidst  thou  ?     Passing  credence  fled  thy 
word. 

Cly.  In  Troy  Greece  triumphs.     Speak  I  clearly  now? 

Chor.  Joy  steals  upon  me,  and  calls  forth  the  tear. 

Cly.  Thy  glist'ning  eye  bespeaks  an  honest  heart. 

Chor.  Does  aught  of  certain  proof  confirm  these  tid- 
insrs? 


58  nvi.rs 

Cly.  It  does.     Why  not  ?  unless  the  gods  deceive  us. 

Chor.  Perchance  the  visions  of  persuasive  dreams. 

Cly.  Sport  of  the  slumbering  soul ;  they  move  not  me. 

Chor.  Hath  then  some  winged  rumour  spread  these 
transports  ? 

Cly.  As  a  raw  girl's,  thou  holdest  my  judgment  cheap. 

Chor.  How  long  hath  ruin  crushed  this  haughty  city? 

Cly.  This  night,  that  gave  this  infant  morning  birth. 

Chor.  What  speed  could  be  the  herald  of  this  news? 

Cly.  The  fire,  that  from  the  height  of  Ida  sent 
Its  streaming  light,  as  from  th'  announcing  flame 
Torch  blazed  to  torch.     First  Ida  to  the  steep 
Of  Lemnos ;  Athos'  sacred  height  received 
The  mighty  splendour ;  from  the  surging  back 
Of  the  Hellespont  the  vigorous  blaze  held  on 
Its  smiling  way,  and  like  the  orient  sun 
Illumes  with  golden-gleaming  rays  the  head 
Of  rocky  Macetas ;  nor  lingers  there, 
Nor  winks  unheedful,  but  its  warning  flames 
Darts  to  the  streams  of  Euripus,  and  gives 
Its  glittering  signal  to  the  guards  that  hold 
Their  high  watch  on  Mesapius.     These  enkindle 
The  joy-announcing  fires,  that  spread  the  blaze 
To  where  Erica  hoar  its  shaggy  brow 
Waves  rudely.     Unimpaired  the  active  flame 
Bounds  o'er  the  level  of  Asopus,  like 
The  jocund  moon,  and  on  Cithaeron's  steep 
Wakes  a  successive  flame  ;  the  distant  watch 
Agnize  its  shine,  and  raise  a  brighter  fire, 
That  o'er  the  lake  Gorgopis  streaming  holds 
Its  rapid  course,  and  on  the  mountainous  heights 
Of  ^Egiplanctus  huge,  swift-shooting  spreads 
The  lengthened  line  of  light.     Thence  onward  waves 
Its  fiery  tresses,  eager  to  ascend 
The  crags  of  Prone,  frowning  in  their  pride 
( ) Cr  the  Saronic  gulf :  it  leaps,  it  mounts 
The  summit  of  Arachne,  whose  high  head 


AGAMEMNON  59 

Looks  down  on  Argos :  to  this  royal  seat 
Thence  darts  the  light  that  from  th'  Idean  fire 
Derives  its  birth.     Rightly  in  order  thus 
Each  to  the  next  consigns  the  torch,  and  fills 
The  bright  succession,  while  the  first  in  speed 
Vies  with  the  last :  the  promised  signal  this 
Given  by  my  lord  t'  announce  the  fall  of  Troy. 

Chor.  Anon  my  grateful  praise  shall  rise  to  heaven : 
Now,  lady,  would  I  willingly  attend 
Through  each  glad  circumstance  the  wond'rous  tale. 

Cly.  This  day  the  conquering  Greeks  are  lords  of  Troy. 
Methinks  I  hear  the  various  clamours  rise 
Discordant  through  the  city.     Pour  thou  oil 
In  the  same  vase  and  vinegar,  in  vain 
Wouldst  thou  persuade  th'  unsocial  streams  to  mix: 
The  captives'  and  the  conqueror's  voice  distinct, 
Marks  of  their  different  fortune,  mayst  thou  hear : 
Those  rolling  on  the  bodies  of  the  slain, 
Friends,  husbands,  brothers,  fathers  ;  the  weak  arms 
Of  children  clasped  around  the  bleeding  limbs 
Of  hoary  age,  lament  their  fall,  their  necks 
Bent  to  the  yoke  of  slavery :  eager  these 
From  the  fierce  toils  of  war,  who  through  the  gloom 
Of  night  ranged  wide,  fly  on  the  spoils,  as  chance, 
Not  order,  leads  them  ;  in  the  Trojan  houses, 
Won  by  their  spears,  they  walk  at  large,  relieved 
From  the  cold  dews  dropped  from  th'  unsheltered  sky ; 
And  at  th'  approach  of  eve,  like  those  whose  power 
Commands  security,  the  easy  night 
Shall  sleep  unguarded.     If  with  hallowed  rites 
They  venerate  the  gods  that  o'er  the  city, 
With  those  that  o'er  the  vanquished  country  rule, 
And  reverence  their  shrines,  the  conquering  troops 
Shall  not  be  conquered.     May  no  base  desire, 
No  guilty  wish  urge  them,  enthralled  to  gain, 
To  break  through  sacred  laws.     Behooves  them  now, 
With  safety  in  their  train,  backward  to  plough 


60  .V.SCHYLUS 

The  refluent  wave.     Should  they  return  exposed 
To  th'  anger  of  the  gods,  vengeance  would  wake 
To  seize  its  prey,  might  they  perchance  escape 
Life's  incidental  ills.     From  me  thou  hearest 
A  woman's  sentiment ;  and  much  I  wish, 
Their  glories  by  no  rude  mischance  depressed, 
To  cull  from  many  blessings  the  most  precious. 

Chor.  With  manly  sentiment  thy  wisdom,  lady, 
Speaks  well.     Confiding  in  thy  suasive  signs, 
Prepare  we  to  address  the  gods ;  our  strains 
Shall  not  without  their  meed  of  honour  rise. 

Prosode 

Supreme  of  kings,  Jove ;  and  thou,  friendly  night, 
That  wide  o'er  Heaven's  star-spangled  plain 

Holdest  thy  awful  reign, 
Thou,  that  with  resistless  might 
O'er  Troy's  proud  towers,  and  destined  state, 
Hast  thrown  the  secret  net  of  fate, 
In  whose  enormous  sweep  the  young,  the  old, 

Without  distinction  rolled, 
Are  with  unsparing  fury  dragged  away 

To  slavery  and  woe  a  prey  ; 
Thee,  hospitable  Jove,  whose  vengeful  power 
These  terrors  o'er  the  foe  has  spread, 
Thy  bow  long  bent  at  Paris'  head, 
Whose  arrows  know  their  time  to  fly, 
Not  hurtling  aimless  in  the  sky, 
Our  pious  strains  adore. 

Strophe  i 
The  hand  of  Jove  will  they  not  own ; 

And,  as  his  marks  they  trace, 
Confess  he  willed,  and  it  was  done? 

Who  now  of  earth-born  race 
Shall  dare  contend  that  his  hi-h  power 

Deigns  not  with  eye  severe  to  view 


AGAMEMNON  6l 

The  wretch  that  tramples  on  his  law  ? 

Hence  with  this  impious  lore : 
Learn  that  the  sons  accursed  shall  rue 

The  madly  daring  father's  pride, 
That  furious  drew  th'  unrighteous  sword, 
High  in  his  house  the  rich  spoils  stored, 
And  the  avenging  gods  defied. 

But  be  it  mine  to  draw 
From  wisdom's  fount,  pure  as  it  flows, 
That  calm  of  soul  which  virtue  only  knows. 

For  vain  the  shield  that  wealth  shall  spread, 
To  guard  the  proud  oppressor's  head, 
Who  dares  the  rites  of  justice  to  confound, 
And  spurn  her  altars  to  the  ground. 

Antistrophe  t 

But  suasive  is  the  voice  of  vice, 

That  spreads  th'  insidious  snare  ; 
She,  not  concealed,  through  her  disguise 

Emits  a  livid  glare. 
Her  votary,  like  adult'rate  brass 

Unfaithful  to  its  use,  unsound, 
Proves  the  dark  baseness  of  his  soul ; 

Fond  as  a  boy  to  chase 
The  winged  bird  light-flitting  rqund, 

And  bent  on  his  pernicious  play 
Draws  desolation  on  his  state.  • 

His  vows  no  god  regards,  when  Fate 

In  vengeance  sweeps  the  wretch  away. 
With  base  intent  and  foul, 

Each  hospitable  law  defied, 
From  Sparta's  king  thus  Paris  stole  his  bride. 

To  Greece  she  left  the  shield,  the  spear, 

The  naval  armament  of  war  ; 
And,  bold  in  ill,  to  Troy's  devoted  shore 

Destruction  for  her  dowry  bore. 


AESCHYLUS 

Strophe  2 
When  through  the  gates  her  easy  way 

She  took,  his  pensive  breast 
Each  prophet  smote  in  deep  dismay, 
'  And  thus  his  grief  expressed  : 
"  What  woes  this  royal  mansion  threat, 

This  mansion,  and  its  mighty  lord? 
Where  now  the  chaste  connubial  bed  ? 

The  traces  of  her  feet, 
By  love  to  her  blest  consort  led, 

Where  now?     Ah  !  silent,  see,  she  stands; 
Each  glowing  tint,  each  radiant  grace, 
That  charm  th'  enraptured  eye,  we  trace ; 
And  still  the  blooming  form  commands, 

Still  honoured,  still  adored, 
Though,  careless  of  her  former  loves, 
Far  o'er  the  rolling  sea  the  wanton  roves ; 
The  husband,  with  a  bursting  sigh, 
Turns  from  the  pictured  fair  his  eye ; 
While  love,  by  absence  fed,  without  control 
Tumultuous  rushes  on  his  soul. 

Antistrophe  2 
"  Oft  as  short  slumbers  close  his  eyes, 

His  sad  soul  soothed  to  rest, 
The  dream-created  visions  rise, 

With  all  her  charms  impressed  : 
•    But  vain  th'  ideal  scene,  that  smiles 

With  rapturous  love  and  warm  delight ; 
Vain  his  fond  hopes  :  his  eager  arms 

The  fleeting  form  beguiles, 
On  sleep's  quick  pinions  passing  light." 
Such  griefs,  and  more  severe  than  these, 
Their  sad  gloom  o'er  the  palace  spread  ; 
Thrncc  stretch  their  melancholy  shade, 
And  darken  o'er  the  realms  of  Greece. 
Struck  with  no  false  alarms 


AGAMEMNON  63 

Each  house  its  home-felt  sorrow  knows, 
Each  bleeding  heart  is  pierced  with  keenest  woes ; 

When  for  the  hero,  sent  to  share 

The  glories  of  the  crimson  war, 

Naught,  save  his  arms  stained  with  their  master's  gore, 
And  his  cold  ashes  reach  the  shore. 

Strophe  j 
Thus  in  the  dire  exchange  of  war 

Does  Mars  the  balance  hold  ; 
Helms  are  the  scale,  the  beam  a  spear, 

And  blood  is  weighed  for  gold. 
Thus,  for  the  warrior,  to  his  friends 

His  sad  remains,  a  poor  return, 
Saved  from  the  sullen  fire  that  rose 

On  Troy's  cursed  shore,  he  sends, 
Placed  decent  in  the  mournful  urn. 

With  many  a  tear  their  dead  they  weep, 
Their  names  with  many  a  praise  resound ; 

One  for  his  skill  in  arms  renowned ; 

One,  that  amid  the  slaughtered  heap 

Of  fierce-conflicting  foes 
Glorious  in  beauty's  cause  he  fell : 
Yet  'gainst  th'  avenging  chiefs  their  murmurs  swell 
In  silence.     Some  in  youth's  fresh  bloom 
Beneath  Troy's  towers  possess  a  tomb ; 
Their  bodies  buried  on  the  distant  strand, 
Seizing  in  death  the  hostile  land. 

Antistrophe  j 
How  dreadful,  when  the  people  raise 

Loud  murmurs  mixed  with  hate ! 
Yet  this  the  tribute  greatness  pays 

For  its  exalted  state. 
E'en  now  some  dark  and  horrid  deed 

By  my  presaging  soul  is  feared ; 
For  never  with  unheedful  eyes, 


64  /ESCHYLUS 

When  slaughtered  thousands  bleed, 
Did  the  just  powers  of  Heaven  regard 

The  carnage  of  th'  ensanguined  plain. 
The  ruthless  and  oppressive  power 
May  triumph  for  its  little  hour  ; 

Full  soon  with  all  their  vengeful  train 
The  sullen  Furies  rise, 
Break  his  fell  force,  and  whirl  him  down 
Through  life's  dark  paths,  unpitied  and  unknown. 
And  dangerous  is  the  pride  of  fame, 
Like  the  red  lightning's  dazzling  flame. 
Nor  envied  wealth,  nor  conquest  let  me  gain, 
Nor  drag  the  conqueror's  hateful  chain. 

Epode 

But  from  these  fires  far  streaming  through  the  night 
Fame  through  the  town  her  progress  takes, 

And  rapt'rous  joy  awakes  ; 
If  with  truth's  auspicious  light 
They  shine,  who  knows?     Her  sacred  reign 
Nor  fraud,  nor  falsehood,  dares  profane. 
But  who,  in  wisdom's  school  so  lightly  taught, 

Suffers  his  ardent  thought 
From  these  informing  flames  to  catch  the  fire, 

Full  soon  perchance  in  grief  t'  expire  ? 
Yet  when  a  woman  holds  the  sovereign  sway, 
Obsequious  wisdom  learns  to  bow, 
And  hails  the  joy  it  does  not  know  : 
Though,  as  the  glitt'ring  visions  roll 
Before  her  easy,  credulous  soul, 
Their  glories  fade  away. 

Cly,  Whether  these  fires,  that  with  successive  signals 
Blaze  through  the  night,  be  true,  or  like  a  dream 
Play  with  a  sweet  delusion  on  the  soul, 
Soon  shall  we  know.     A  herald  from  the  shore 
I  see ;  branches  of  olive  shade  his  brows. 


AGAMEMNON  65 

That  cloud  of  dust,  raised  by  his  speed,  assures  me 
That  neither  speechless,  nor  enkindling  flames 
Along  the  mountains,  will  he  signify 
His  message  ;  but  his  tongue  shall  greet  our  ears 
With  words  of  joy  :  far  from  my  soul  the  thought 
Of  other,  than  confirm  these  fav'ring  signals. 

Chor.  May  he,  that  to  this  state  shall  form  a  wish 
Of  other  aim,  on  his  own  head  receive  it. 

CLYTEMNESTRA,  CHORUS,  HERALD 
Herald.  Hail,  thou  paternal  soil  of  Argive  earth ! 
In  the  fair  light  of  the  tenth  year  to  thee 
Returned,  from  the  sad  wreck  of  many  hopes 
This  one  I  save ;  saved  from  despair  e'en  this ; 
For  never  thought  I  in  this  honoured  earth 
To  share  in  death  the  portion  of  a  tomb. 
Hail  then,  loved  earth  ;  hail,  thou  bright  sun ;  and  thou, 
Great  guardian  of  my  country,  supreme  Jove ; 
Thou,  Pythian  king,  thy  shafts  no  longer  winged 
'For  our  destruction  ;  on  Scamander's  banks 
Enough  we  mourned  thy  wrath ;  propitious  now 
Come,  King  Apollo,  our  defence.     And  all 
Ye  gods,  that  o'er  the  works  of  war  preside, 
I  now  invoke  ;  thee,  Mercury,  my  avenger, 
Revered  by  heralds,  that  from  thee  derive 
Their  high  employ  ;  you  heroes,  to  the  war 
That  sent  us,  friendly  now  receive  our  troops, 
The  relics  of  the  spear.     Imperial  walls, 
Mansion  of  kings,  ye  seats  revered  ;  ye  gods, 
That  to  the  golden  sun  before  these  gates 
Present  your  honoured  forms  ;  if  e'er  of  old 
Those  eyes  with  favour  haVe  beheld  the  king, 
Receive  him  now,  after  this  length  of  time, 
With  glory ;  for  he  comes,  and  with  him  brings 
To  you,  and  all,  a  light  that  cheers  this  gloom  : 
Then  greet  him  well ;  such  honour  is  his  meed. 
The  mighty  king,  that  with  the  mace  of  Jove 
5 


66  riYLUS 

Th%  avenger,  wherewith  he  subdues  the  earth, 
Hath  levelled  with  the  dust  the  towers  of  Troy ; 
Their  altars  are  o'erturned,  their  sacred  shrines, 
And  all  the  race  destroyed.     This  iron  yoke 
Fixed  on  the  neck  of  Troy,  victorious  comes 
The  great  Atrides,  of  all  mortal  men 
Worthy  of  highest  honours.     Paris  now, 
And  the  perfidious  state,  shall  boast  no  more 
His  proud  deeds  unrevenged  ;  stripped  of  his  spoils, 
The  debt  of  justice  for  his  thefts,  his  rapines, 
Paid  amply,  o'er  his  father's  house  he  spreads 
With  twofold  loss  the  wide-involving  ruin. 

Cly.  Joy  to  thee,  herald  of  the  Argive  host. 

Her.  For  joy  like  this  death  were  a  cheap  exchange. 

Cly.  Strong  thy  affection  to  thy  native  soil. 

Her.  So  strong,  the  tear  of  joy  starts  from  my  eye. 

Cly.  What,  hath  this  sweet  infection  reached  e'en  you? 

Her.  Beyond  the  power  of  language  have  I  felt  it. 

Cly.  The  fond  desire  of  those,  whose  equal  love — 

Her.  This  of  the  army  sayst  thou,  whose  warm  love 
Streams  to  this  land  ?     Is  this  thy  fond  desire  ? 

Cly.  Such  that  I  oft  have  breathed  the  secret  sigh. 

Her.  Whence  did  the  army  cause  this  anxious  sadness? 

Cly.  Silence  I  long  have  held  a  healing  balm. 

Her.  The  princes  absent,  hadst  thou  whom  to  fear? 

Cly.  To  use  thy  words,  death  were  a  wished  exchange. 

Her.  Well  is  the  conflict  ended.     In  the  tide 
Of  so  long  time,  if  'midst  the  easy  flow 
Of  wished  events  some  tyrannous  blast  assail  us, 
What  marvel  ?     Who,  save  the  blest  gods,  can  claim 
Through  life's  whole  course  an  unmixed  happiness? 
Should  I  relate  our  toils,  our  wretched  plight 
Wedged  in  our  narrow  ill-provided  cabins, 

h  irksome  hour  was  loaded  with  fatigues. 
Yrt  these  were  slight  assays  to  those  worse  hardships 
We  suffered  on  the  shore :  our  lodging  near 
The  walls  of  the  enemy,  the  dews  of  heaven 


AGAMEMNON  67 

Fell  on  us  from  above,  the  damps  beneath 
From  the  moist  marsh  annoyed  us,  shrouded  ill 
In  shaggy  cov'rings.     Or  should  one  relate 
The  winter's  keen  blasts,  which  from  Ida's  snows 
Breathe  frore,  that,  pierced  through  all  their  plumes,  the 

birds 

Shiver  and  die  ;  or  th'  extreme  heat  that  scalds, 
When  in  his  midday  caves  the  sea  reclines, 
And  not  a  breeze  disturbs  his  calm  repose. 
But  why  lament  these  sufferings  ?     They  are  past ; 
Past  to  the  dead  indeed  ;  they  lie,  no  more 
Anxious  to  rise.     What  then  avails  to  count 
Those  whom  the  wasteful  war  hath  swept  away, 
And  with  their  loss  afflict  the  living?     Rather 
Bid  we  farewell  to  misery  :  in  our  scale, 
Who  haply  of  the  Grecian  host  remain, 
The  good  preponderates,  and  in  counterpoise 
Our  loss  is  light ;  and,  after  all  our  toils 
By  sea  and  land,  before  yon  golden  sun 
It  is  our  glorious  privilege  to  boast, 
"  At  length  from  vanquished  Troy  our  warlike  troops 
Have  to  the  gods  of  Greece  brought  home  these  spoils, 
And  in  their  temples,  to  record  our  conquests, 
Fixed  these  proud  trophies."     Those  that  hear  this  boast 
It  well  becomes  to  gratulate  the  state, 
And  the  brave  chiefs ;  revering  Jove's  high  power 
That  grace  our  conquering  arms.    Thou  hast  my  message. 

Chor.  Thy  words    convince   me ;    all   my   doubts   are 

vanished  : 

But  scrupulous  inquiry  grows  with  age. 
On  Clytemnestra  and  her  house  this  charge, 
Blessing  e'en  me  with  the  rich  joy,  devolves. 

Cly.  Long  since  my  voice  raised  high  each  note  of  joy, 
When  through  the  night  the  streaming  blaze  first  came, 
And  told  us  Troy  was  taken  :  not  unblamed 
That,  as  a  woman  lightly  credulous, 
I  let  a  mountain  fire  transport  my  soul 


68  AESCHYLUS 

With  the  fond  hope  that  Ilion's  haughty  towers 

Were  humbled  in  the  dust.     At  this  rebuke, 

Though  somewhat  shaken,  yet  I  sacrificed ; 

And,  as  weak  woman  wont,  one  voice  of  joy 

Awoke  another,  till  the  city  rang 

Through  all  its  streets  ;  and  at  the  hallowed  shrines 

Each  raised  the  pious  strains  of  gratitude, 

And  fanned  the  altar's  incense-breathing  flame. 

But  it  is  needless  to  detain  thee  longer, 

Soon  from  the  king's  own  lips  shall  I  learn  all. 

How  best  I  may  receive  my  honoured  lord, 

And  grace  his  wished  return,  now  claims  my  speed. 

Can  heaven's  fair  beam  show  a  fond  wife  a  sight 

More  grateful  than  her  husband  from  his  wars 

Returned  with  glory,  when  she  opes  the  gate, 

And  springs  to  welcome  him  ?     Tell  my  lord  this, 

That  he  may  hasten  his  desired  return  : 

And  tell  him  he  will  find  his  faithful  wife, 

Such  as  he  left  her,  a  domestic  creature, 

To  him  all  fondness,  to  his  enemies 

Irreconcilable  ;  and  tell  him  too 

That  ten  long  years  have  not  effaced  the  seal 

Of  constancy  ;  that  never  knew  I  pleasure 

In  the  blamed  converse  of  another  man, 

More  than  the  virgin  metal  in  the  mines 

Knows  an  adulterate  and  debasing  mixture. 

Her.  This  high  boast,  lady,  sanctified  by  truth, 
Is  not  unseemly  in  thy  princely  rank. 

HERALD,  CHORUS 

Chorus.  This,  for  thy  information,  hath  she  spoken 
With  dignity  and  truth.     Now  tell  me,  herald, 
Of  Sparta's  king  wish  I  to  question  thee, 
The  pride  of  Greece  :  returns  he  safe  with  you  ? 

Her.  Never  can  I  esteem  a  falsehood  honest, 
Though  my  friends  long  enjoy  the  sweet  delusion. 

Chor.  What  then  if  thou  relate  an  honest  truth? 


AGAMEMNON  69 

From  this  distinction  the  conjecture's  easy. 

Her.  Him  from  the  Grecian  fleet  our  eyes  have  lost, 
The  hero  and  his  ship.     This  is  the  truth. 

Chor.  Chanced  this  when  in  your  sight  he  weighed 

from  Troy ; 
Or  in  a  storm  that  rent  him  from  the  fleet  ? 

Her.  Rightly  is  thy  conjecture  aimed,  in  brief 
Touching  the  long  recital  of  our  loss. 

Chor.  How  deemed  the  other  mariners  of  this  ; 
That  the  ship  perished  or  rode  out  the  storm  ? 

Her.  Who,  save  yon  sun,  the  regent  of  the  earth, 
Can  give  a  clear  and  certain  information  ? 

Chor.  How  saidst  thou  then  a  storm,  not  without  loss, 
Winged  with  Heaven's  fury,  tossed  the  shattered  fleet  ? 

Her.  It  is  not  meet,  with  inauspicious  tongue 
Spreading  ill  tidings,  to  profane  a  day 
Sacred  to  festal  joy  :  the  gods  require 
Their  pure  rites  undisturbed.     When  with  a  brow 
Witness  of  woe,  the  messenger  relates 
Unwelcome  news,  defeats,  and  slaughtered  armies, 
The  wound  with  general  grief  affects  the  state ; 
And  with  particular  and  private  sorrow 
Full  many  a  house,  for  many  that  have  fall'n 
Victims  to  Mars,  who  to  his  bloody  car 
Delights  to  yoke  his  terrors,  sword  and  spear. 
A  paean  to  the  Furies  would  become 
The  bearer  of  such  pond'rous  heap  of  ills. 
My  tidings  are  of  conquest  and  success, 
Diffusing  joy :  with  these  glad  sounds  how  mix 
Distress,  and  speak  of  storm  and  angry  gods  ? 
The  powers,  before  most  hostile,  now  conspired, 
Fire  and  the  sea,  in  ruin  reconciled : 
And  in  a  night  of  tempest  wild  from  Thrace 
In  all  their  fury  rushed  the  howling  winds  ; 
Tossed  by  the  forceful  blasts  ship  against  ship 
In  hideous  conflict  dashed,  or  disappeared, 
Driven  at  the  boist'rous  whirlwind's  dreadful  will; 


7° 


/ESCHYLUS 


But  when  the  sun's  fair  light  returned,  we  see 

Bodies  of  Grecians,  and  the  wreck  of  ships 

Float  on  the  chafed  foam  of  th%  ^gean  Sea. 

Us  and  our  ship  some  god,  the  power  of  man 

Were  all  too  weak  holding  the  helm  preserved 

Unhurt,  or  interceding  for  our  safety  ; 

And  fortune,  the  deliverer,  steered  our  course 

To  shun  the  waves,  that  near  the  harbour's  mouth 

Boil  high,  or  break  upon  the  rocky  shore. 

Escaped  th'  ingulfing  sea,  yet  scarce  secure 

Of  our  escape,  through  the  fair  day  we  view 

With  sighs  the  recent  sufferings  of  the  host, 

Cov'ring  the  sea  with  wrecks.     If  any  breathe 

This  vital  air,  they  deem  us  lost,  as  we 

Think  the  same  ruin  theirs.     Fair  fall  th'  event! 

But  first  and  chief  expect  the  Spartan  king 

T'  arrive ;  if  yet  one  ray  of  yon  bright  sun 

Beholds  him  living,  through  the  care  of  Jove, 

Who  wills  not  to  destroy  that  royal  race, 

Well  may  we  hope  to  joy  in  his  return. 

Having  heard  this,  know  thou  hast  heard  the  truth. 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
Is  there  to  names  a  charm  profound 
Expressive  of  their  fates  assigned, 
Mysterious  potency  of  sound, 

And  truth  in  wondrous  accord  joined  ? 
Why  else  this  fatal  name, 
That  Helen  and  destruction  are  the  same? 

Affianced  in  contention,  led, 
The  spear  her  dowry,  to  the  bridal  bed : 

With  desolation  in  her  train, 
Fatal  to  martial  hosts,  to  rampired  towers, 
From  the  rich  fragrance  of  her  gorgeous  bowers, 

I  >escending  to  the  main, 
She  hastes  to  spread  her  flying  sails, 
And  calls  the  earth-born  zephyr's  gales. 


AGAMEMNON  7 

While  heroes,  breathing  vengeance,  snatch  their  shields, 
And  trace  her  light  oars  o'er  the  pathless  waves, 

To  the  thick  shades  fresh  waving  o'er  those  fields, 
Which  Simois  with  his  silver  windings  laves. 

Antistrophe  i 
To  Troy  the  shining  mischief  came ; 

Before  her,  young-eyed  pleasures  play ; 
But  in  the  rear  with  steadfast  aim 
Grim-visaged  Vengeance  marks  his  prey, 

Waiting  the  dreadful  hour 
The  terrors  of  offended  Heaven  to  pour 

On  those  that  dared,  an  impious  train, 
The  rites  of  hospitable  Jove  profane  ; 

Nor  revered  that  sacred  song, 

Whose  melting  strains  the  bride's  approach  declare, 
As  Hymen  wakes  the  rapture-breathing  air. 

Far  other  notes  belong, 
The  voice  of  mirth  now  heard  no  more, 
To  Priam's  state  ;  its  ruins  o'er 
Wailing  instead,  distress,  and  loud  lament ; 

Long  sorrows  sprung  from  that  unholy  bed, 
And  many  a  curse  in  heart-felt  anguish  sent 
On  its  woe-wedded  Paris'  hated  head. 

Strophe  2 
The  woodman,  from  his  thirsty  lair, 

Reft  of  his  dam,  a  lion  bore  ; 
Fostered  his  future  foe  with  care 
To  mischiefs  he  must  soon  deplore : 
Gentle  and  tame,  while  young, 
Harmless  he  frisked  the  fondling  babes  among  ; 

Oft  in  the  father's  bosom  lay, 
Oft  licked  his  feeding  hand  in  fawning  play ; 

Till,  conscious  of  his  firmer  age, 
His  lion-race  the  lordly  savage  shows ; 
No  more  his  youth-protecting  cottage  knows, 


72  ^SCHYLUS 

But  with  insatiate  rage 

Flies  on  the  flocks,  a  baleful  guest, 

And  riots  in  th'  unbidden  feast: 
While  through  his  mangled  folds  the  hapless  swain 

With  horror  sees  th'  unbounded  carnage  spread  ; 
And  learns  too  late  that  from  th'  infernal  reign 

A  priest  of  At6  in  his  house  was  bred. 

Antistrophe  2 
To  Ilion's  towers  in  wanton  state 

With  speed  she  wings  her  easy  way ; 
Soft  gales  obedient  round  her  wait, 
And  pant  on  the  delighted  sea. 

Attendant  on  her  side 
The  richest  ornaments  of  splendid  pride : 

The  darts,  whose  golden  points  inspire, 
Shot  from  her  eyes  the  flames  of  soft  desire  ; 

The  youthful  bloom  of  rosy  love, 
That  fills  with  ecstasy  the  willing  soul : 
With  duteous  zeal  obey  her  sweet  control. 

But,  such  the  doom  of  Jove, 
Vindictive  round  her  nuptial  bed, 
With  threat'ning  mien  and  footstep  dread, 
Rushes  to  Priam  and  his  state  severe, 

To  rend  the  bleeding  heart  his  stern  delight, 
And  from  the  bridal  eye  to  force  the  tear, 
Erinnys,  rising  from  the  realms  of  night. 

Epode 

From  ev'ry  mouth  we  oft  have  heard 
This  saying,  for  its  age  revered  : 
"  With  joy  we  see  our  offspring  rise, 
And  happy,  who  not  childless  dies  : 
But  Fortune,  when  her  flow'rets  blow, 
Oft  bears  the  bitter  fruit  of  woe." 
Though  these  saws  are  as  truths  allowed, 
Thus  I  dare  differ  from  the  crowd  : 


AGAMEMNON  73 

"  One  base  deed,  with  prolific  power, 
Like  its  cursed  stock  engenders  more  : 
But  to  the  just,  with  blooming  grace 
Still  flourishes,  a  beauteous  race." 

The  old  Injustice  joys  to  breed 
Her  young,  instinct  with  villanous  deed  ; 
The  young  her  destined  hour  will  find 
To  rush  in  mischief  on  mankind : 
She  too  in  At6's  murky  cell, 
Brings  forth  the  hideous  child  of  hell, 
A  burden  to  th'  offended  sky, 
The  power  of  bold  impiety. 

But  Justice  bids  her  ray  divine 
E'en  on  the  low-roofed  cottage  shine ; 
And  beams  her  glories  on  the  life, 
That  knows  not  fraud,  nor  ruffian  strife. 
The  gorgeous  glare  of  gold,  obtained 
By  foul  polluted  hands,  disdained 
She  leaves,  and  with  averted  eyes 
To  humbler,  holier  mansions  flies ; 
And  looking  through  the  times  to  come 
Assigns  each  deed  its  righteous  doom. 

CHORUS,  AGAMEMNON 

Chorus.  My  royal  lord,  by  whose  victorious  hand 
The  towers  of  Troy  are  fall'n,  illustrious  son 
Of  Atreus,  with  what  words,  what  reverence 
Shall  I  address  thee,  not  t'  o'erleap  the  bounds 
Of  modest  duty,  nor  to  sink  beneath 
An  honourable  welcome  ?     Some  there  are, 
That  form  themselves  to  seem,  more  than  to  be, 
Transgressing  honesty  :  to  him  that  feels 
Misfortune's  rugged  hand,  full  many  a  tongue 
Shall  drop  condolence,  though  th'  unfeeling  heart 
Knows  not  the  touch  of  sorrow  ;  these  again 
4 


74 


AESCHYLUS 


In  fortune's  summer  gale,  with  the  like  art, 

Shall  dress  in  forced  smiles  th'  unwilling  face : 

But  him  the  penetrating  eye  soon  marks, 

That  in  the  seemly  garb  of  honest  zeal 

Attempts  to  clothe  his  meagre  blandishments. 

When  first  in  Helen's  cause  my  royal  lord 

Levied  his  host,  let  me  not  hide  the  truth, 

Notes,  other  than  music,  echoed  wide 

In  loud  complaints  from  such  as  deemed  him  rash, 

And  void  of  reason,  by  constraint  to  plant 

In  breast  averse  the  martial  soul,  that  glows 

Despising  death.     But  now  their  eager  zeal 

Streams  friendly  to  those  chiefs,  whose  prosp'rous  valour 

Is  crowned  with  conquest.     Soon  then  shalt  thou  learn, 

As  each  supports  the  state,  or  strives  to  rend  it 

With  faction,  who  reveres  thy  dignity. 

Aga.  To  Argos  first,  and  to  my  country's  gods, 
I  bow  with  reverence,  by  whose  holy  guidance 
On  Troy's  proud  towers  I  poured  their  righteous  venge- 
ance, 

And  now  revisit  safe  my  native  soil. 
No  loud-tongued  pleader  heard,  they  judged  the  cause, 
And  in  the  bloody  urn,  without  one  vote 
Dissentient,  cast  the  lots  that  fixed  the  fate 
Of  Ilion  and  its  sons :  the  other  vase 
Left  empty,  save  of  widowed  hope.     The  smoke, 
Rolling  in  dusky  wreaths,  shows  that  the  town 
Is  fall'n ;  the  fiery  storm  yet  lives,  and  high 
The  dying  ashes  toss  rich  clouds  of  wealth 
Consumed.     For  this  behooves  us  to  the  gods 
Render  our  grateful  thanks,  and  that  they  spread 
The  net  of  fate  sweeping  with  angry  ruin. 
In  beauty's  cause  the  Argive  monster  reared 
Its  bulk  enormous,  to  th'  affrighted  town 
Portending  devastation  ;  in  its  womb 
Hiding  embattled  hosts,  rushed  furious  forth, 
About  the  setting  of  the  Pleiades, 


75 

And,  as  a  lion  rav'ning  for  its  prey, 

Ramped  o'er  their  walls,  and  lapped  the  blood  of  kings. 

This  to  the  gods  addressed,  I  turn  me  now 

Attentive  to  thy  caution  :  I  approve 

Thy  just  remark,  and  with  my  voice  confirm  it. 

Few  have  the  fortitude  of  soul  to  honour 

A  friend's  success,  without  a  touch  of  envy  ; 

For  that  malignant  passion  to  the  heart 

Cleaves  close,  and  with  a  double  burden  loads 

The  man  infected  with  it ;  first  he  feels 

In  all  their  weight  his  own  calamities, 

Then  sighs  to  see  the  happiness  of  others. 

This  of  my  own  experience  have  I  learned  ; 

And  this  I  know,  that  many,  who  in  public 

Have  borne  the  semblance  of  my  firmest  friends, 

Are  but  the  flatt'ring  image  of  a  shadow 

Reflected  from  a  mirror ;  save  Ulysses 

Alone,  who,  though  averse  to  join  our  arms, 

Yoked  in  his  martial  harness  from  my  side 

Swerved  not ;  living  or  dead  be  this  his  praise. 

But  what  concerns  our  kingdom  and  the  gods, 

Holding  a  general  council  of  the  state, 

We  will  consult ;  that  what  is  well  may  keep 

Its  goodness  permanent,  and  what  requires 

Our  healing  hand,  with  mild  severity 

May  be  corrected.     But  my  royal  roof 

Now  will  I  visit,  and  before  its  hearths 

Offer  libations  to  the  gods,  who  sent  me 

To  this  far-distant  war,  and  led  me  back. 

Firm  stands  the  victory  that  attends  our  arms. 

^CLYTEMNESTRA,  AGAMEMNON,  CHORUS 
Clytemnestra.  Friends,  fellow-citizens,  whose   counsels 

guide 

The  state  of  Argos,  in  your  reverend  presence 
A  wife's  fond  love  I  blush  not  to  disclose  : 
Thus  habit  softens  dread.     From  my  full  heart 


76 


^SCHYLUS 


Will  I  recount  my  melancholy  life 

Through  the  long  stay  of  my  loved  lord  at  Troy : 

For  a  weak  woman,  in  her  husband's  absence, 

Pensive  to  sit  and  lonely  in  her  house, 

Tis  dismal,  list'ning  to  each  frightful  tale  : 

First  one  alarms  her,  then  another  comes 

Charged  with  worse  tidings.     Had  my  poor  lord  here 

Suffered  as  many  wounds  as  common  fame 

Reported,  like  a  net  he  had  been  pierced  ; 

Had  he  been  slain  oft  as  the  loud-tongued  rumour 

Was  noised  abroad,  this  triple-formed  Geryon, 

A  second  of  the  name,  while  yet  alive, 

For  of  the  dead  I  speak  not,  well  might  boast 

To  have  received  his  triple  mail,  to  die 

In  each  form  singly.     Such  reports  oppressed  me, 

Till  life  became  distasteful,  and  my  hands 

Were  prompted  oft  to  deeds  of  desperation. 

Nor  is  thy  son  Orestes,  the  dear  tie 

That  binds  us  each  to  th'  other,  present  here 

To  aid  me,  as  he  ought :  nay,  marvel  not, 

The  friendly  Strophius  with  a  right  strong  arm 

Protects  him  in  Phocsea ;  while  his  care 

Saw  danger  threat' me  in  a  double  form, 

The  loss  of  thee  at  Troy,  the  anarchy 

That  might  ensue,  should  madness  drive  the  people 

To  deeds  of  violence,  as  men  are  prompt 

Insultingly  to  trample  on  the  fall'n : 

Such  care  dwells  not  with  fraud.     At  thy  return 

The  gushing  fountains  of  my  tears  are  dried, 

Save  that  my  eyes  are  weak  with  midnight  watchings, 

Straining,  through  tears,  if  haply  they  might  see 

Thy  signal  fires,  that  claimed  my  fixed  attention. 

If  they  were  closed  in  sleep,  a  silly  fly 

Would,  with  its  slightest  murm'rings,  make  me  start, 

And  wake  me  to  more  fears.     For  thy  dear  sake 

All  this  I  suffered  :  but  my  jocund  heart 

Forgets  it  all,  while  I  behold  my  lord, 


AGAMEMNON  77 

My  guardian,  the  strong-  anchor  of  my  hope, 

The  stately  column  that  supports  my  house, 

Dear  as  an  only  child  to  a  fond  parent ; 

Welcome  as  land,  which  the  tossed  mariner 

Beyond  his  hope  descries ;  welcome  as  day 

After  a  night  of  storms  with  fairer  beams 

Returning  ;  welcome  as  the  liquid  lapse 

Of  fountain  to  the  thirsty  traveller  : 

So  pleasant  is  it  to  escape  the  chain 

Of  hard  constraint.     Such  greeting  I  esteem 

Due  to  thy  honour :  let  it  not  offend, 

For  I  have  suffered  much.     But,  my  loved  lord, 

Leave  now  that  car ;  nor  on  the  bare  ground  set 

That  royal  foot,  beneath  whose  mighty  tread 

Troy  trembled. — Haste,  ye  virgins,  to  whose  care 

This  pleasing  office  is  intrusted,  spread 

The  streets  with  tapestry  ;  let  the  ground  be  covered 

With  richest  purple,  leading  to  the  palace  ; 

That  honour  with  just  state  may  grace  his  entry, 

Though  unexpected.     My  attentive  care 

Shall,  if  the  gods  permit,  dispose  the  rest 

To  welcome  his  high  glories,  as  I  ought. 

Aga.  Daughter  of  Leda,  guardian  of  my  house, 
Thy  words  are  correspondent  to  my  absence, 
Of  no  small  length.     With  better  grace  my  praise 
Would  come  from  others :  soothe  me  not  with  strains 
Of  adulation,  as  a  girl ;  nor  raise, 
As  to  some  proud  barbaric  king,  that  loves 
Loud  acclamations  echoed  from  the  mouths 
Of  prostrate  worshippers,  a  clamorous  welcome  : 
Nor  spread  the  streets  with  tapestry  ;  'tis  invidious  ; 
These  are  the  honours  we  should  pay  the  gods. 
For  mortal  man  to  tread  on  ornaments 

Of  rich  embroidery No  :  I  dare  not  do  it : 

Respect  me  as  a  man,  not  as  a  god. 

Why  should  my  foot  pollute  these  vests,  that  glow 

With  various  tinctured  radiance  ?     My  full  fame 


7g  AESCHYLUS 

Swells  high  without  it;  and  the  temperate  rule 

Of  cool  discretion  is  the  choicest  gift 

Of  favouring  Heaven.     Happy  the  man,  whose  life 

Is  spent  in  friendship's  calm  security. 

These  sober  joys  be  mine,  I  ask  no  more. 

Cly.  Do  not  thou  thwart  the  purpose  of  my  mind. 

Aga.  My  mind,  be  well  assured,  shall  not  be  tainted. 

Cly.  Hast  thou  in  fear  made  to  the  gods  this  vow? 

Aga.  Free,  from  my  soul  in  prudence  have  I  said  it. 

Cly.  Had  Priam's  arms  prevailed,  how  had  he  acted  ? 

Aga.  On  rich  embroidery  he  had  proudly  trod. 

Cly.  Then  dread  not  thou  th'  invidious  tongues  of  men. 

Aga.  Yet  has  the  popular  voice  much  potency. 

Cly.  But  the  unenvied  is  not  of  the  happy. 

Aga.  Ill  suits  it  thy  soft  sex  to  love  contention. 

Cly.  To  yield  sometimes  adds  honour  to  the  mighty. 

Aga.  Art  thou  so  earnest  to  obtain  thy  wish  ? 

Cly.  Let  me  prevail :  indulge  me  with  this  conquest. 

Aga.  If  such  thy  will,  haste  some  one,  from  my  feet 
Unloose  these  high-bound  buskins,  lest  some  god 
Look  down  indignant,  if  with  them  I  press 
These  vests  sea-tinctured  :  shame  it  were  to  spoil 
With  unclean  tread  their  rich  and  costly  texture. 
Of  these  enough. — This  stranger,  let  her  find 
A  gentle  treatment :  from  high  heaven  the  god 
Looks  with  an  eye  of  favour  on  the  victor 
That  bears  his  high  state  meekly  ;  for  none  wears 
Of  his  free  choice  the  yoke  of  slavery. 
And  she,  of  many  treasures  the  prime  flower 
Selected  by  the  troops,  has  followed  me. 
Well,  since  I  yield  me  vanquished  by  thy  voice, 
I  go,  treading  on  purple,  to  my  house. 

Cly.  Does  not  the  sea,  and  who  shall  drain  it,  yield 
Unfailing  stores  of  these  rich  tints,  that  glow 
With  purple  radiance?     These  this  lordly  house 
Commands,  blest  with  abundance,  but  to  want 
A  stranger.     I  had  vowed  his  foot  should  tread 


AGAMEMNON  79 

On  many  a  vestment,  when  the  victims  bled, 
The  hallowed  pledge  which  this  fond  breast  devised 
For  his  return.     For  while  the  vig'rous  root 
Maintains  its  grasp,  the  stately  head  shall  rise, 
And  with  its  waving  foliage  screen  the  house 
From  the  fierce  dog-star's  fiery  pestilence. 
And  on  thy  presence  at  thy  household  hearth, 
Ev'n  the  cold  winter  feels  a  genial  warmth. 
But  when  the  hot  sun  in  the  unripe  grape 
Matures  the  wine,  the  husband's  perfect  virtues 
Spread  a  refreshing  coolness.     Thou,  O  Jove, 
Source  of  perfection,  perfect  all  my  vows, 
And  with  thy  influence  favour  my  intents ! 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 

What  may  this  mean  ?     Along  the  skies 

Why  do  these  dreadful  portents  roll? 

Visions  of  terror,  spare  my  aching  eyes, 

Nor  shake  my  sad  presaging  soul ! 
In  accents  dread,  not  tuned  in  vain, 

Why  bursts  the  free,  unbidden  strain  ? 
These  are  no  phantoms  of  the  night, 
That  vanish  at  the  faithful  light 
Of  steadfast  confidence.     Thou  sober  power, 
Whither,  ah,  whither  art  thou  gone  ? 

For  since  the  long-passed  hour, 
When  first  for  Troy  the  naval  band 
Unmoored  their  vessels  from  the  strand, 
Thou  hast  not  in  my  bosom  fixed  thy  throne. 

Antistrophe  I 
At  length  they  come  :  these  faithful  eyes, 

See  them  returned  to  Greece  again : 
Yet,  while  the  sullen  lyre  in  silence  lies, 

Erinnys  wakes  the  mournful  strain : 
Her  dreadful  powers  possess  my  soul, 
And  bid  the  untaught  measures  roll ; 


go  AESCHYLUS 

Swell  in  rude  notes  the  dismal  lay, 

And  fright  enchanting  hope  away  ; 
While,  ominous  of  ill,  grim-visaged  care 

Incessant  whirls  my  tortured  heart. 
Vain  be  each  anxious  fear ! 

Return,  fair  hope,  thy  seat  resume, 

Dispel  this  melancholy  gloom, 
And  to  my  soul  thy  gladsome  light  impart ! 

Strophe  2 

Ah  me,  what  hope  !     This  mortal  state 
Nothing  but  cruel  change  can  know. 
Should  cheerful  health  our  vig'rous  steps  await, 

Enkindling  all  her  roseate  glow  ; 
Disease  creeps  on  with  silent  pace, 
And  withers  ev'ry  blooming  grace. 
Proud  sails  the  bark ;  the  fresh  gales  breathe, 
And  dash  her  on  the  rocks  beneath. 
In  the  rich  house  her  treasures  plenty  pours; 
Comes  sloth,  and  from  her  well-poised  sling 

Scatters  the  piled-up  stores. 
Yet  disease  makes  not  all  her  prey  : 
Nor  sinks  the  bark  beneath  the  sea : 
And  famine  sees  the  heaven-sent  harvest  spring. 

A  ntistrophe  2 
But  when  forth-welling  from  the  wound 

The  purple-streaming  blood  shall  fall, 
And  the  warm  tide  disdain  the  reeking  ground, 

Who  shall  the  vanished  life  recall? 
Nor  verse,  nor  music's  magic  power, 
Nor  the  famed  leech's  boasted  lore ; 
Not  that  his  art  restored  the  dead, 
Jove's  thunder  burst  upon  his  head. 
But  that  the  Fates  forbid,  and  chain  my  tongue, 
My  heart,  at  inspiration's  call, 

Would  the  rapt  strain  prolong : 


AGAMEMNON  gl 

Now  all  is  dark ;  it  raves  in  vain, 
And,  as  it  pants  with  trembling  pain, 
Desponding  feels  its  fiery  transports  fall. 

CLYTEMNESTRA,  CASSANDRA,  CHORUS 

Clytemnestra.  Thou  too,  Cassandra,  enter;  since  high 

Jove, 

Gracious  to  thee,  hath  placed  thee  in  this  house, 
With  many  slaves  to  share  the  common  rites, 
And  deck  the  altar  of  the  fav'ring  god. 
Come  from  that  chariot,  and  let  temperance  rule 
Thy  lofty  spirit :  ev'n  Alcmena's  son, 
Sold  as  a  slave,  submitted  to  the  yoke 
Perforce ;  and  if  necessity's  hard  hand 
Hath  sunk  thee  to  this  fortune,  our  high  rank, 
With  greatness  long  acquainted,  knows  to  use 
Its  power  with  gentleness :  the  low-born  wretch, 
That  from  his  mean  degree  rises  at  once 
To  unexpected  riches,  treats  his  slaves 
With  barbarous  and  unbounded  insolence. 
From  us  thou  wilt  receive  a  juster  treatment. 

Chor.  These  are  plain  truths :  since  in  the  toils  of  fate 
Thou  art  inclosed,  submit,  if  thou  canst  brook 
Submission  ;  haply  I  advise  in  vain. 

Cly.  If  that  her  language,  like  the  twittering  swallow's, 
Be  not  all  barbarous  and  unknown,  my  words 
Within  shall  with  persuasion  move  her  mind. 

Chor.  She  speaks  what  best  beseems  thy  present  state; 
Follow,  submit,  and  leave  that  lofty  car. 

Cly.  I  have  not  leisure  here  before  the  gates 
T'  attend  on  her ;  for  at  the  inmost  altar, 
Blazing  with  sacred  fires,  the  victims  stand 
Devoted  to  the  gods  for  his  return 
So  much  beyond  our  hopes.     If  to  comply 
Thou  form  thy  mind,  delay  not :  if  thy  tongue 
Knows  not  to  sound  our  language,  let  thy  signs 
Supply  the  place  of  words,  speak  with  thy  hand. 


82  AESCHYLUS 

Chor.  Of  foreign  birth  she  understands  us  not : 
But  as  new-taken  struggles  in  the  net. 

Cly.  Tis  frenzy  this,  the  impulse  of  a  mind 
Disordered  ;  from  a  city  lately  taken 
She  comes,  and  knows  not  how  to  bear  the  curb, 
Till  she  has  spent  her  rage  in  bloody  foam. 
But  I  no  more  waste  words  to  be  disdained. 

Chor.  My  words,  for  much  1  pity  her,  shall  bear 
No  mark  of  anger.     Go,  unhappy  fair  one, 
Forsake  thy  chariot,  unreluctant  learn 
To  bear  this  new  yoke  of  necessity. 

Cas.  Woe,  woe !  O  Earth  !  Apollo,  O  Apollo  ! 

Chor.  Why  with  that  voice  of  woe  invoke  Apollo? 
Ill  do  these  notes  of  grief  accord  with  him. 

Cas.  Woe,  woe  !  O  Earth  !  Apollo,  O  Apollo ! 

Chor.  Again  her  inauspicious  voice  invokes 
The  god,  whose  ears  are  not  attuned  to  woe. 

Cas.  Apollo,  O  Apollo,  fatal  leader, 
Yet  once  more,  god,  thou  leadest  me  to  ruin ! 

Chor.  She  seems  prophetic  of  her  own  misfortunes, 
Retaining,  though  a  slave,  the  divine  spirit. 

Cas.  Apollo,  O  Apollo,  fatal  leader, 
Ah,  whither  hast  thou  led  me  ?  to  what  house  ? 

Chor.  Is  that  unknown  ?     Let  me  declare  it  then  ; 
This  is  the  royal  mansion  of  th'  Atridae. 

Cas.  It  is  a  mansion  hated  by  the  gods, 
Conscious  to  many  a  foul  and  horrid  deed  ; 
A  slaughter-house,  that  reeks  with  human  gore. 

Chor.  This  stranger  seems,  like  the  nice-scented  hound, 
Quick  in  the  trace  of  blood,  which  she  will  find. 

Cas.  These  are  convincing  proofs.     Look  there,  look 

there, 

While  pity  drops  a  tear,  the  children  butchered, 
The  father  feasting  on  their  roasted  flesh ! 

Chor.  Thy  fame,  prophetic  virgin,  we  have  heard  ; 
We  know  thy  skill ;  but  wish  no  prophets  now. 

Cas.  Ye  powers  of  Heaven,  what  does  she  now  design  ? 


AGAMEMNON  .  8' 

What  new  and  dreadful  deed  of  woe  is  this  ? 
What  dreadful  ill  designs  she  in  the  house, 
Intolerable,  irreparable  mischief, 
While  far  she  sends  the  succouring  power  away  ? 

Chor.  These  prophecies  surpass  my  apprehension  ; 
The  first  I  knew,  they  echo  through  the  city. 

Cas.  Ah  !  daring  wretch,  dost  thou  achieve  this  deed, 
Thus  in  the  bath  the  partner  of  thy  bed 
Refreshing?     How  shall  I  relate  th'  event? 
Yet  speedy  shall  it  be.     Ev'n  now  advanced 
Hand  above  hand  extended  threatens  high. 

Chor.  I  comprehend  her  not ;  her  words  are  dark, 
Perplexing  me  like  abstruse  oracles. 

Cas.  Ah !  What  is  this,  that  I  see  here  before  me  ? 
Is  it  the  net  of  hell  ?     Or  rather  hers, 
Who  shares  the  bed  and  plans  the  murderous  deed. 
Let  discord,  whose  insatiable  rage 
Pursues  this  race,  howl  through  the  royal  rooms 
Against  the  victim  destined  to  destruction. 

Chor.  What  fury  dost  thou  call  within  this  house 
To  hold  her  orgies  ?     The  dread  invocation 
Appals  me  ;  to  my  heart  the  purple  drops 
Flow  back ;  a  deathlike  mist  covers  my  eyes, 
With  expectation  of  some  sudden  ruin. 

Cas.  See,  see  there :  from  the  heifer  keep  the  bull ! 
O'er  his  black  brows  she  throws  th'  entangling  vest, 
And  smites  him  with  her  huge  two-handed  engine. 
He  falls,  amid  the  cleansing  laver  falls : 
I  tell  thee  of  the  bath,  the  treach'rous  bath. 

Chor.  T'  unfold  the  obscure  oracles  of  Heaven 
Is  not  my  boast ;  beneath  the  shadowing  veil 
Misfortune  lies ;  when  did  th'  inquirer  learn 
From  the  dark  sentence  an  event  of  joy  ? 
From  time's  first  records  the  diviner's  voice 
Gives  the  sad  heart  a  sense  of  misery. 

Cas.  Ah  me,  unhappy  !     Wretched,  wretched  fate  ! 
For  my  own  sufferings  joined  call  forth  these  wailings. 


84 


AESCHYLUS 


Why  hast  thou  brought  me  hither  ?     Wretched  me  ! 
Is  it  for  this,  that  I  may  die  with  him  ? 

Chor.  This  is  the  frenzy  of  a  mind  possessed 
With  wildest  ravings.     Thy  own  woes  thou  wailest 
In  mournful  melody  ;  like  the  sweet  bird, 
That  darkling  pours  her  never-ceasing  plaint ; 
And  for  her  Itys,  her  lost  Itys,  wastes 
In  sweetest  woe  her  melancholy  life. 

Cas.  Ah  me !  the  fortune  of  the  nightingale 
Is  to  be  envied  :  on  her  light-poised  plumes 
She  wings  at  will  her  easy  way,  nor  knows 
The  anguish  of  a  tear,  while  o'er  my  head 
Th'  impending  sword  threatens  the  fatal  wound. 

Chor.  Whence  is  this  violent,  this  wild  presage 
Of  ill  ?     Thy  fears  are  vain  ;  yet  with  a  voice 
That  terrifies,  though  sweet,  aloud  thou  speakest 
Thy  sorrows.     Whence  hast  thou  derived  these  omens, 
Thus  deeply  marked  with  characters  of  death  ? 

Cas.  Alas !  the  bed,  the  bridal  bed  of  Paris, 
Destructive  to  his  friends !     Paternal  stream, 
Scamander,  on  thy  banks  with  careless  steps 
My  childhood  strayed :  but  now  methinks  I  go, 
Alas,  how  soon  !  to  prophesy  around 
Cocytus,  and  the  banks  of  Acheron  ! 

Chor.  Perspicuous  this,  and  clear !  the  new-born  babe 
Might  comprehend  it ;  but  thy  piercing  griefs, 
Bewailing  thus  the  miseries  of  thy  fate, 
Strike  deep ;  they  wound  me  to  my  very  soul. 

Cas.  Ah,  my  poor  country,  my  poor  bleeding  country, 
Fall'n,  fall'n  forever !     And  you,  sacred  altars, 
That  blazed  before  my  father's  towered  palace, 
Not  all  your  victims  could  avert  your  doom  ! 
And  on  the  earth  soon  shall  my  warm  blood  flow. 

Chor.  This  is  consistent  with  thy  former  ravings. 
Or  does  some  god  indeed  incumbent  press 
Thy  soul,  and  modulate  thy  voice  to  utter 
These  lamentable  notes  of  woe  and  death? 


AGAMEMNON  85 

What  th'  event  shall  be,  exceeds  my  knowledge. 

Cas.  The  oracle  no  more  shall  shroud  its  visage 
Beneath  a  veil,  as,  a  new  bride  that  blushes 
To  meet  the  gazing  eye ;  but  like  the  sun, 
When  with  his  orient  ray  he  gilds  the  east, 
Shall  burst  upon  you  in  a  flood  of  light, 
Disclosing  deeds  of  deeper  dread.     Away, 
Ye  mystic  coverings !     And  you,  reverend  men, 
Bear  witness  to  me,  that  with  steady  step 
I  trace  foul  deeds  that  smell  above  the  earth. 
For  never  shall  that  band,  whose  yelling  notes 
In  dismal  accord  pierce  th'  affrighted  ear, 
Forsake  this  house.     The  genius  of  the  feast, 
Drunk  with  the  blood  of  men,  and  fired  from  thence 
To  bolder  daring,  ranges  through  the  rooms 
Linked  with  his  kindred  Furies :  these  possess 
The  mansion,  and  in  horrid  measures  chant 
The  first  base  deed  ;  recording  with  abhorrence 
Th''  adulterous  lust,  that  stained  a  brother's  bed. 
What,  like  a  skilful  archer,  have  I  lodged 
My  arrow  in  the  mark  ?     No  trifling  this, 
T'  alarm  you  with  false  sounds.     But  swear  to  me, 
In  solemn  attestation,  that  I  know, 
And  speak  the  old  offences  of  this  house. 

Chor.  In  such  a  rooted  ill  what  healing  power 
Resides  there  in  an  oath  ?     But  much  I  marvel 
That  thou,  the  native  of  a  foreign  realm, 
Of  foreign  tongue,  canst  speak  our  language  freely, 
As  Greece  had  been  thy  constant  residence. 

Cas.  Apollo  graced  me  with  this  skill.     At  first 
The  curb  of  modesty  was  on  my  tongue. 

Chor.  Did  the  god  feel  the  force  of  young  desire  ? 
In  each  gay  breast  ease  fans  the  wanton  flame. 

Cas.  With  all  the  fervour  of  impatient  love 
He  strove  to  gratify  my  utmost  wish. 

Chor.  And  didst  thou  listen  to  his  tempting  lures? 

Cas.  First  I  assented,  then  deceived  the  god. 


86  /ESCHYLUS 

Chor,  Wast  thou  then  fraught  with  these  prophetic  arts? 

Cas.  Even  then  I  told  my  country  all  its  woes. 

Chor.  The  anger  of  the  god  fell  heavy  on  thee? 

Cas.  My  voice,  for  this  offence,  lost  all  persuasion. 

Chor.  To  us  it  seems  a  voice  of  truth  divine. 

Cas.  Woe,  woe  is  me  !     Again  the  furious  power 
Swells  in  my  lab'ring  breast ;  again  commands 
My  bursting  voice ;  and  what  I  speak  is  fate. 
Look,  look,  behold  those  children.     There  they  sit  ; 
Such  are  the  forms,  that  in  the  troubled  night 
Distract  our  sleep.     By  a  friend's  hands  they  died : 
Are  these  the  ties  of  blood  ?     See,  in  their  hands 
Their  mangled  limbs,  horrid  repast,  they  bear: 
Th'  invited  father  shares  th'  accursed  feast. 
For  this  the  sluggard  savage,  that  at  ease 
Rolls  on  his  bed,  nor  rouses  from  his  lair, 
'Gainst  my  returning  lord,  for  I  must  wear 
The  yoke  of  slavery,  plans  the  dark  design 
Of  death.     Ah  me  !  the  chieftain  of  the  fleet, 
The  vanquisher  of  Troy,  but  little  knows 
What  the  smooth  tongue  of  mischief,  filed  to  words 
Of  glozing  courtesy,  with  fate  her  friend, 
Like  Ate  ranging  in  the  dark  can  do 
Calmly  :  such  deeds  a  woman  dares :  she  dares 
Murder  a  man.     What  shall  I  call  this  mischief? 
An  Amphisbaena  ?  or  a  Scylla  rather, 
That  in  the  vexed  rocks  holds  her  residence, 
And  meditates  the  manner's  destruction  ? 
Mother  of  hell,  'midst  friends  enkindling  discord 
And  hate  implacable  !     With  dreadful  daring 
How  did  she  shout,  as  if  the  battle  swerved  ? 
Yet  with  feigned  joy  she  welcomes  his  return. 
These  words  may  want  persuasion.     What  of  that  ? 
What  must  come,  will  come :  and  ere  long  with  grief 
Thou  shall  confess  my  prophecies  are  true. 

Chor.  Thyestes'  bloody  feast  oft  have  I  heard  of, 
Always  with  horror;  and  I  tremble  now 


AGAMEMNON  87 

Hearing  th'  unaggravated  truth.     What  else 
She  utters,  leads  my  wand'ring  thoughts  astray 
In  wild  uncertainty. 

Cas.  Then  mark  me  well, 

Thou  shalt  behold  the  death  of  Agamemnon. 

Ckor.  To  better  omens  tune  that  voice  unblessed, 
Or  in  eternal  silence  be  it  sunk. 

Cas.  This  is  an  ill  no  medicine  can  heal. 

Chor.  Not  if  it  happens  :  but  avert  it,  Heaven  ! 

Cas.  To  pray  be  thine  ;  the  murd'rous  deed  is  theirs. 

Chor.  What  man  dares  perpetrate  this  dreadful  act? 

Cas.  How  widely  dost  thou  wander  from  my  words ! 

Chor.  I  heard  not  whose  bold  hand  should  do  the  deed. 

Cas.  Yet  speak  I  well  the  language  of  your  Greece. 

Chor.  The  gift  of  Phoebus  this ;  no  trivial  grace. 

Cas.  Ah,  what  a  sudden  flame  comes  rushing  on  me ! 
I  burn,  I  burn.     Apollo,  O  Apollo ! 
This  lioness,  that  in  a  sensual  sty 
Rolled  with  the  wolf,  the  generous  lion  absent, 
Will  kill  me.     And  the  sorc'ress,  as  she  brews 
Her  philtred  cup,  will  drug  it  with  my  blood. 
She  glories,  as  against  her  husband's  life 
She  whets  the  axe,  her  vengeance  falls  on  him 
For  that  he  came  accompanied  by  me. 
Why  do  I  longer  wear  these  useless  honours, 
This  laurel  wand,  and  these  prophetic  wreaths? 
Away !  before  I  die  I  cast  you  from  me ; 
Lie  there  and  perish  ;  I  am  rid  of  you  ; 
Or  deck  the  splendid  ruin  of  some  other. 
Apollo  rends  from  me  these  sacred  vestments, 
Who  saw  me  in  his  rich  habiliments 
Mocked  'midst  my  friends,  doubtless  without  a  cause. 
When  in  opprobrious  terms  they  jeered  my  skill, 
And  treated  me  as  a  poor  vagrant  wretch, 
That  told  events  from  door  to  door  for  bread, 
I  bore  it  all :  but  now  the  prophet  god, 
That  with  his  own  arts  graced  me,  sinks  me  down 


88  AESCHYLUS 

To  this  low  ruin.     As  my  father  fell 

Butchered  ev'n  at  the  altar,  like  the  victim's 

My  warm  blood  at  the  altar  shall  be  shed : 

Nor  shall  we  die  unhonoured  by  the  gods. 

He  comes,  dreadful  in  punishment,  the  son 

Of  this  bad  mother,  by  her  death  t'  avenge 

His  murdered  father  :  distant  though  he  roams 

An  outcast  and  an  exile,  by  his  friends 

Fenced  from  these  deeds  of  violence,  he  comes 

In  solemn  vengeance  for  his  father  laid 

Thus  low.     But  why  for  foreign  miseries 

Does  the  tear  darken  in  my  eye,  that  saw 

The  fall  of  Ilium,  and  its  haughty  conquerors 

In  righteous  judgment  thus  received  their  meed? 

But  forward  now ;  I  go  to  close  the  scene, 

Nor  shrink  from  death.     I  have  a  vow  in  heaven : 

And  further,  I  adjure  these  gates  of  hell, 

Well  may  the  blow  be  aimed,  that  while  my  blood 

Flows  in  a  copious  stream,  I  may  not  feel 

The  fierce,  convulsive  agonies  of  death  ; 

But  gently  sink,  and  close  my  eyes  in  peace. 

Chor.  Unhappy,  in  thy  knowledge  most  unhappy, 
Long  have  thy  sorrows  flowed.     But  if  indeed 
Thou  dost  foresee  thy  death,  why,  like  the  heifer 
Led  by  a  heavenly  impulse,  do  thy  steps 
Advance  thus  boldly  to  the  cruel  altar  ? 

Cas.  I  could  not  by  delay  escape  my  fate. 

Chor.  Yet  is  there  some  advantage  in  delay. 

Cas.  The  day  is  come  :  by  flight  I  should  gain  little. 

Chor.  Thy  boldness  adds  to  thy  unhappiness. 

Cas.  None  of  the  happy  shuns  his  destined  end. 

Chor.  True ;  but  to  die  with  glory  crowns  our  praise. 

Cas.  So  died  my  father,  so  his  noble  sons. 

Chor.  What    may  this   mean?     Why  backward    dost 

thou  start? 
Do  thy  own  thoughts  with  horror  strike  thy  soul  ? 

Cas.  The  scent  of  blood  and  death  breathes  from  this 
house. 


AGAMEMNON  89 

Chor.  The  victims  now  are  bleeding  at  the  altar. 

Cas.  'Tis  such  a  smell  as  issues  from  the  tomb. 

Chor.  This  is  no  Syrian  odour  in  the  house. 

Cas.  Such  though  it  be,  I  enter  to  bewail 
My  fate,  and  Agamemnon's.     To  have  lived, 
Let  it  suffice.     And  think  not,  gen'rous  strangers, 
Like  the  poor  bird  that  flutters  o'er  the  bough, 
Through  fear  I  linger.     But  my  dying  words 
You  will  remember,  when  her  blood  shall  flow 
For  mine,  woman's  for  woman's :  and  the  man's, 
For  his  that  falls  by  his  accursed  wife. 

Chor.  Thy  fate,  poor  sufferer,  fills  my  eyes  with  tears. 

Cas.  Yet  once  more  let  me  raise  my  mournful  voice. 
Thou  sun,  whose  rising  beams  shall  bless  no  more 
These  closing  eyes  !     You,  whose  vindictive  rage 
Hangs  o'er  my  hated  murderers,  oh  avenge  me, 
Though,  a  poor  slave,  I  fall  an  easy  prey  ! 
This  is  the  state  of  man :  in  prosperous  fortune 
A  shadow,  passing  light,  throws  to  the  ground 
Joy's  baseless  fabric  :  in  adversity 
Comes  Malice  with  a  sponge  moistened  in  gall, 
And  wipes  each  beauteous  character  away  ; 
More  than  the  first  this  melts  my  soul  to  pity. 

Chor.  By  nature  man  is  formed  with  boundless  wishes 
For  prosperous  fortune  ;  and  the  great  man's  door 
Stands  ever  open  to  that  envied  person, 
On  whom  she  smiles ;  but  enter  not  with  words, 
Like  this  poor  sufferer,  of  such  dreadful  import. 
His  arms  the  powers  of  Heaven  have  graced  with  con- 
quest ; 

Troy's  proud  walls  lie  in  dust;  and  he  returns 
Crowned  by  the  gods  with  glory  :  but  if  now 
His  blood  must  for  the  blood  there  shed  atone, 
If  he  must  die  for  those  that  died,  too  dearly 
He  buys  his  triumph.     Who  of  mortal  men 
Hears  this,  and  dares  to  think  his  state  secure? 

Aga.  [within]  Oh  !  I  am  wounded  with  a  deadly  blow. 


00  /ESCHYLUS 

SemicJior.  List,  list !     What  cry  is  this  of  wounds  and 

death  ? 
Aga.  Wounded  again,  oh,  basely,  basely  murdered ! 

SEMICHORUS 

Tis  the  king's  cry  ;  the  dreadful  deed  is  doing. 
What  shall  we  do  ?     What  measures  shall  we  form  ? 

What  if  we  spread  th'  alarm,  and  with  our  outcries 
Call  at  the  palace  gates  the  citizens  ? 

Nay,  rather  rush  we  in,  and  prove  the  deed, 
While  the  fresh  blood  is  reeking  on  the  sword. 

I  readily  concur  ;  determine  then  ; 

For  something  must  be  done,  and  instantly. 

That's  evident.     This  bloody  prelude  threatens 
More  deeds  of  violence  and  tyranny. 

We  linger :  those  that  tread  the  paths  of  honour, 
Late  though  she  meets  them,  sleep  not  in  their  task. 

Perplexity  and  doubt  distract  my  thoughts : 
Deeds  of  high  import  ask  maturest  counsel. 

Such  are  my  thoughts,  since  fruitless  were  th'  attempt 
By  all  our  pleas  to  raise  the  dead  to  life. 

To  save  our  wretched  lives  then  shall  we  bow 
To  these  imperious  lords,  these  stains  of  honour? 

That  were  a  shame  indeed  !     No  ;  let  us  die  : 
Death  is  more  welcome  than  such  tyranny. 

Shall  we  then  take  these  outcries,  which  we  heard, 
For  proofs,  and  thence  conclude  the  king  is  slain  ? 

We  should  be  well  assured  ere  we  pronounce  : 
To  know,  and  to  conjecture,  differ  widely. 

There's  reason  in  thy  words.     Best  enter  then, 
And  sec  what  fate  attends  the  son  of  Atreus. 


AGAMEMNON  91 

CLYTEMNESTRA,  CHORUS 

Clytemnestra.  To  many  a  fair  speech  suited  to  the  times, 
If  my  words  now  be  found  at  variance, 
I  shall  not  blush.     For  when  the  heart  conceives 
Thoughts  of  deep  vengeance  on  a  foe,  what  means 
T'  achieve  the  deed  more  certain,  than  to  wear 
The  form  of  friendship,  and  with  circling  wiles 
Inclose  him  in  th'  insuperable  net? 
This  was  no  hasty,  rash-conceived  design  ; 
But  formed  with  deep,  premeditated  thought, 
Incensed  with  wrongs ;  and  often  have  I  stood, 
T'  assay  the  execution,  where  he  fell ; 
And  planned  it  so,  for  I  with  pride  avow  it, 
He  had  no  power  t'  escape,  or  to  resist, 
Entangled  in  the  gorgeous  robe,  that  shone 
Fatally  rich.     I  struck  him  twice,  and  twice 
He  groaned,  then  died.     A  third  time  as  he  lay 
I  gored  him  with  a  wound,  a  grateful  present 
To  the  stern  god,  that  in  the  realms  below 
Reigns  o'er  the  dead :  there  let  him  take  his  seat. 
He  lay ;  and  spouting  from  his  wounds  a  stream 
Of  blood,  bedewed  me  with  these  crimson  drops. 
I  glory  in  them,  like  the  genial  earth, 
When  the  warm  showers  of  heaven  descend,  and  wake 
The  flow'rets  to  unfold  their  vermeil  leaves. 
Come  then,  ye  reverend  senators  of  Argos, 
Joy  with  me,  if  your  hearts  be  tuned  to  joy  ; 
And  such  I  wish  them.     Were  it  decent  now 
To  pour  libations  o'er  the  dead,  with  justice 
It  might  be  done  ;  for  his  injurious  pride 
Filled  for  this  house  the  cup  of  desolation, 
Fated  himself  to  drain  it  to  the  dregs. 

Chor.  We  are  astonished  at  thy  daring  words, 
Thus  vaunting  o'er  the  ruins  of  thy  husband. 

Cly.  Me,  like  a  witless  woman,  wouldst  thou  fright  ? 
I  tell  thee,  my  firm  soul  disdains  to  fear. 
Be  thou  disposed  t'  applaud,  or  censure  me, 


92  AESCHYLUS 

I  reck  it  not :  there  Agamemnon  lies, 

My  husband,  slaughtered  by  this  hand :  I  dare 

Avow  his  death,  and  justify  the  deed. 

Chor.  What  poison  hath  the  baleful  teeming  earth, 
Or  the  chafed  billows  of  the  foamy  sea, 
Given  thee  for  food,  or  mingled  in  thy  cup, 
To  work  thee  to  this  frenzy  ?     Thy  cursed  hand 
Hath  struck,  hath  slain.     For  this  thy  country's  wrath 
Shall  in  just  vengeance  burst  upon  thy  head, 
And  with  abhorrence  drive  thee  from  the  city. 

Cly.  And  dost  thou  now  denounce  upon  my  head 
Vengeance,  and  hate,  and  exile  ?     'Gainst  this  man 
Urging  no  charge?     Yet  he  without  remorse, 
As  if  a  lamb  that  wantoned  in  his  pastures 
Were  doomed  to  bleed,  could  sacrifice  his  daughter, 
For  whose  dear  sake  I  felt  a  mother's  pains, 
T'  appease  the  winds  of  Thrace.     Should  not  thy  voice 
Adjudge  this  man  to  exile,  in  just  vengeance 
For  such  unholy  deeds  ?     Scarce  hast  thou  heard 
What  I  have  done,  but  sentence  is  pronounced, 
And  that  with  rigour  too.     But  mark  me  well, 
I  boldly  tell  thee  that  I  bear  a  soul 
Prepared  for  either  fortune  ;  if  thy  hand 
Be  stronger,  use  thy  power :  but  if  the  gods 
Prosper  my  cause,  be  thou  assured,  old  man, 
Thou  shalt  be  taught  a  lesson  of  discretion. 

Chor.  Aspiring  are  thy  thoughts,  and  thy  proud  vaunts 
Swell  with  disdain  ;  ev'n  yet  thy  madding  mind 
Is  drunk  with  slaughter ;  with  a  savage  grace 
The  thick  blood  stains  thine  eye.     But  soon  thy  friends 
Faithless  shall  shrink  from  thy  unsheltered  side, 
And  leave  thee  to  just  vengeance,  blow  for  blow. 

Cly.  Hear  then  this  solemn  oath  :  By  that  revenge, 
Which  for  my  daughter  I  have  greatly  taken ; 
By  the  dread  powers  of  At6  and  Erinnys, 
To  whom  my  hand  devoted  him  a  victim, 
Without  a  thought  of  fear  I  range  these  rooms, 


AGAMEMNON 


93 


While  present  to  my  aid  JEgisthus  stands, 
As  he  hath  stood,  guarding  my  social  hearth : 
He  is  my  shield,  my  strength,  my  confidence. 
Here  lies  my  base  betrayer,  who  at  Troy 
Could  revel  in  the  arms  of  each  Chryseis  ; 
He,  and  his  captive  minion ;  she  that  marked 
Portents  and  prodigies,  and  with  ominous  tongue 
Presaged  the  Fates ;  a  wanton  harlotry, 
True  to  the  rower's  benches;  their  just  meed 
Have  they  received.     See  where  he  lies ;  and  she, 
That  like  the  swan  warbled  her  dying  notes, 
His  paranymph  lies  with  him,  to  my  bed 
Leaving  the  darling  object  of  my  wishes. 

Chor.  No  slow-consuming  pains,  to  torture  us 
Fixed  to  the  groaning  couch,  await  us  now ; 
But  Fate  comes  rushing  on,  and  brings  the  sleep 
That  wakes  no  more.     There  lies  the  king,  whose  vir- 
tues 

Were  truly  royal.     In  a  woman's  cause 
He  suffered  much  ;  and  by  a  woman  perished. 
Ah,  fatal  Helen !  in  the  fields  of  Troy 
How  many  has  thy  guilt,  thy  guilt  alone, 
Stretched  in  the  dust  ?     But  now  by  murd'rous  hands 
Hast  thou  sluiced  out  this  rich  and  noble  blood, 
Whose  foul  stains  never  can  be  purged.     This  ruin 
Hatl?  discord,  raging  in  the  house,  effected. 

Cly.  Wish  not  for  death  ;  nor  bow  beneath  thy  griefs ; 
Nor  turn  thy  rage  on  Helen,  as  if  she 
Had  drenched  the  fields  with  blood,  as  she  alone 
Fatal  to  Greece  had  caused  these  dreadful  ills. 

Chor.  Tremendous  fiend,  that  breathest  through  this 

house 

Thy  baleful  spirit,  and  with  equal  daring 
Hast  steeled  these  royal  sisters  to  fierce  deeds 
That  rend  my  soul,  now,  like  the  baleful  raven, 
Incumbent  o'er  the  body  dost  thou  joy 
T'  affright  us  with  thy  harsh  and  dissonant  notes ! 


94  !  I VI. US 

Cly.  There's   sense    in    this :    now   hast   thou    touched 

the  key, 

Rousing  the  fury  that  from  sire  to  son 
Hath  bade  the  stream  of  blood,  first  poured  by  her, 
Descend :  one  sanguine  tide  scarce  rolled  away, 
Another  flows  in  terrible  succession. 

Chor.  And  dost  thou  glory  in  these  deeds  of  death, 
This  vengeance  of  the  fury  ?     Thus  to  pride  thee 
In  ruin,  and  the  havoc  of  thy  house, 
Becomes  thee  ill.     Ah  !  'tis  a  higher  power, 
That  thus  ordains :  we  see  the  hand  of  Jove, 
Whose  will  directs  the  fate  of  mortal  man. 
My  king,  my  royal  lord,  what  words  can  show 
My  grief,  my  reverence  for  thy  princely  virtues ! 
Art  thou  thus  fall'n,  caught  in  a  cobweb  snare, 
By  impious  murder  breathing  out  thy  life? 
Art  thou  thus  fall'n,  ah  the  disloyal  bed  ! 
Secretly  slaughtered  by  a  treach'rous  hand  ? 

Cly.  Thou  say'st,  and  say'st  aloud,  I  did  this  deed : 
Say  not  that  I,  that  Agamemnon's  wife, 
Did  it :  the  fury,  fatal  to  this  house, 
In  vengeance  for  Thyestes'  horrid  feast, 
Assumed  this  form,  and  with  her  ancient  rage 
Hath  for  the  children  sacrificed  the  man. 

Chor.  That  thou  art  guiltless  of  this  blood,  what  proof, 
What  witness?     From  the  father,  in  his  cause, 
Rise  an  avenger !     Stained  with  the  dark  streams 
Of  kindred  blood  fierce  waves  the  bick'ring  sword, 
And  points  the  ruthless  boy  to  deeds  of  horror. 
My  king,  my  royal  lord,  what  words  can  show 
My  grief,  my  reverence  for  thy  princely  virtues  ! 
Art  thou  thus  fall'n,  caught  in  a  cobweb  snare, 
By  impious  murder  breathing  out  thy  life? 
Art  thou  thus  fall'n,  ah  the  disloyal  bed  ! 
Secretly  slaughtered  by  a  treach'rous  hand? 

Cly.   No :  of  his  death  far  otherwise  I  deem, 
Nothing  disloyal.     Nor  with  secret  guile 


AGAMEMNON 


95 


Wrought  he  his  murd'rous  mischiefs  on  this  house. 

For  my  sweet  flow'ret,  opening  from  his  stem, 

My  Iphigenia,  my  lamented  child, 

Whom  he  unjustly  slew,  he  justly  died. 

Nor  let  him  glory  in  the  shades  below  ; 

For  as  he  taught  his  sword  to  thirst  for  blood, 

So  by  the  thirsty  sword  his  blood  was  shed. 

Chor.  Perplexed  and  troubled  in  my  anxious  thought, 
Amid  the  ruins  of  this  house,  despair 
Hangs  heavy  on  me.     Drop  by  drop  no  more 
Descends  the  shower  of  blood  ;  but  the  wild  storm 
In  one  red  torrent  shakes  the  solid  walls ; 
While  vengeance,  ranging  through  the  dreadful  scene, 
For  further  mischief  whets  her  fatal  sword. 

Semichor.  O  Earth,  that  I  had  rested  in  thy  bosom, 
Ere  I  had  seen  him  lodged  with  thee,  and  shrunk 
To  the  brief  compass  of  a  silver  urn  ! 
Who  shall  attend  the  rites  of  sepulture  ? 
Who  shall  lament  him  ?     Thou,  whose  hand  has  shed 
Thy  husband's  blood,  wilt  thou  dare  raise  the  voice 
Of  mourning  o'er  him?     Thy  unhallowed  hand 
Renders  these  honours,  should  they  come  from  thee, 
Unwelcome  to  his  shade.     What  faithful  tongue, 
Fond  to  recount  his  great  and  godlike  acts, 
Shall  steep  in  tears  his  funeral  eulogy  ? 

Cly.  This  care  concerns  not  thee  :  by  us  he  fell, 
By  us  he  died :  and  we  will  bury  him 
With  no  domestic  grief.     But  Iphigenia, 
His  daughter,  as  is  meet,  jocund  and  blithe 
Shall  meet  him  on  the  banks  of  that  sad  stream, 
The  flood  of  sorrow,  and  with  filial  duty 
Hang  fondling  on  her  father's  neck,  and  kiss  him. 

Chor.  Thus  insult  treads  on  insult.     Of  these  things 
Hard  is  it  to  decide.     Th'  infected  stain 
Communicates  th'  infection  ;  murder  calls 
For  blood  ;  and  outrage  on  th'  injurious  head, 
At  Jove's  appointed  time,  draws  outrage  down. 


96 


A:SCHYLUS 


Thus,  by  the  laws  of  Nature,  son  succeeds 

To  sire ;  and  who  shall  drive  him  from  the  house  ? 

Cly.  These  are  the  oracles  of  truth.     But  hear  me ; 
It  likes  me  to  the  genius  of  the  race 
Of  Plisthenes  to  swear  that  what  is  past, 
Though  poor  the  satisfaction,  bounds  my  wishes. 
Hither  he  comes  no  more :  no,  let  him  stain 
Some  other  house  with  gore.     For  me,  some  poor, 
Some  scanty  pittance  of  the  goods  contents  me, 
Well  satisfied  that  from  this  house  I've  driven 
These  frantic  Furies  red  with  kindred  blood. 

^EGISTHUS,  CLYTEMNESTRA,  CHORUS 
JEgisthus.  Hail  to  this  joyful  day,  whose  welcome  light 
Brings  vengeance !     Now  I  know  that  the  just  gods 
Look  from  their  skies,  and  punish  impious  mortals, 
Seeing  this  man  rolled  in  the  blood-wove  woof, 
The  tissue  of  the  Furies,  grateful  sight, 
And  suffering  for  his  father's  fraudful  crimes. 
Atreus,  his  father,  sovereign  of  this  land, 
Brooking  no  rival  in  his  power,  drove  out 
My  father  and  his  brother,  poor  Thyestes, 
A  wretched  exile :  from  his  country  far 
He  wandered ;  but  at  length  returned,  and  stood 
A  suppliant  before  the  household  gods, 
Secure  in  their  protection  that  his  blood 
Should  not  distain  the  pavement.     This  man's  father, 
The  sacrilegious  Atreus,  with  more  show 
Of  courtesy  than  friendship,  spread  the  feast ; 
Devoting,  such  the  fair  pretence,  the  day 
To  hospitality  and  genial  mirth : 
Then  to  my  father  in  that  feast  served  up 
The  flesh  of  his  own  sons :  their  hands  and  feet 
Hacked  off  before,  their  undistinguished  parts 
He  ate,  without  suspicion  ate,  a  food 
Destructive  to  the  race.     But  when  he  knew 
Th'  unhallowed  deed,  he  raised  a  mournful  cry, 


AGAMEMNON 


97 


And  starting  up  with  horror  spurned  to  the  ground 
The  barb'rous  banquet,  utt'ring  many  a  curse 
Of  deepest  vengeance  on  the  house  of  Pelops. 
Thus  perish  all  the  race  of  Plisthenes! 
And  for  this  cause  thou  seest  him  fall'n !     His  death 
With  justice  I  devised  ;  for  me  he  chased, 
The  thirteenth  son,  an  infant  in  my  cradle, 
With  my  unhappy  father.     Nursed  abroad, 
Vengeance  led  back  my  steps,  and  taught  my  hand 
From  far  to  reach  him.     All  this  plan  of  ruin 
Was  mine,  reckless  of  what  ensues ;  ev'n  death 
Were  glorious,  now  he  lies  caught  in  my  vengeance. 

Chor.  T'  embitter  ills  with  insult,  this,  TEgisthus, 
I  praise  not.     Thou,  of  thine  own  free  accord, 
Hast  slain  this  man  ;  such  is  thy  boast ;  this  plan 
Of  ruin,  which  we  mourn,  is  thine  alone. 
But  be  thou  well  assured  thou  shalt  not  'scape, 
When,  roused  to  justice,  the  avenging  people 
Shall  hurl  their  stones  with  curses  on  thy  head. 

sEgis.  From  thee,  who  labourest  at  the  lowest  oar, 
This  language,  and  to  him  that  holds  the  helm ! 
Thou  shalt  be  taught,  old  man,  what  at  thy  age 
Is  a  hard  lesson,  prudence.     Chains  and  hunger, 
Besides  the  load  of  age,  have  sovereign  virtue 
To  physic  the  proud  heart.     Behold  this  sight ; 
Does  it  not  ope  thine  eyes  ?     Rest  quiet  then  ; 
Contend  not  with  the  strong ;  there's  danger  in  it. 

Chor.  And   could   thy  softer    sex,   while    the    rough 

war 

Demands  its  chieftain,  violate  his  bed, 
And  on  his  first  return  contrive  his  death  ? 

sEgis.  No  more:  this  sounds  th*  alarm  to  rude  com- 
plaints. 

The  voice  of  Orpheus  with  its  soothing  notes 
Attracted  ev'n  the  savage  ;  while  thy  yells 
To  rage  inflame  the  gentle :  but  take  heed  ; 
Dungeons  and  chains  may  teach  thee  moderation. 
I 


98 


/KSCHYLUS 


Chor.  Shalt  thou  reign  king  in  Argos  ?     Thou,  whose 

soul 

Plotted  this  murder  ;  while  thy  coward  hand 
Shrunk  back,  nor  dared  to  execute  the  deed  ? 

sEgis.  Wiles  and  deceit  are  female  qualities : 
The  memory  of  my  ancient  enmity 
Had  waked  suspicion.     Master  of  his  treasures, 
Be  it  my  next  attempt  to  gain  the  people  : 
Whome'er  I  find  unwilling  to  submit, 
Him,  like  a  high-fed  and  unruly  horse 
Reluctant  to  the  harness,  rigour  soon 
Shall  tame  :  confinement,  and  her  meagre  comrade, 
Keen  hunger,  will  abate  his  fiery  mettle. 

Chor.  Did  not  the  baseness  of  thy  coward  soul 
Unman  thee  to  this  murder,  that  a  woman, 
Shame  to  her  country  and  her  country's  gods, 
Must  dare  the  horrid  deed  ?     But  when  Orestes, 
Where'er  he  breathes  the  vital  air,  returns, 
Good  fortune  be  his  guide,  shall  not  his  hand 
Take  a  bold  vengeance  in  the  death  of  both  ? 

jEgis.  Since  such  thy  thoughts  and  words,  soon  shalt 
thou  feel — 

Chor.  Help,   ho !   soldiers   and  friends ;    the  danger's 

near ; 
Help,  ho !  advance  in  haste  with  your  drawn  swords ! 

jEgis.  My  sword  is  drawn  :  ^Egisthus  dares  to  die. 

Chor.  Prophetic  be  thy  words  !     We  hail  the  omen, 

Cly.  Dearest  of  men,  do  not  heap  ills  on  ills : 
I  wish  not  to  exasperate,  but  to  heal, 
Misfortune's  past :  enough  is  given  to  vengeance  ; 
Let  no  more  blood  be  spilt.     Go  then,  old  men, 
Each  to  your  homes ;  go,  while  ye  may,  in  peace. 
What  hath  been  done  the  rigour  of  the  times 
Compelled,  and  hard  necessity  ;  the  weight 
Of  these  afflictions,  grievous  as  they  are, 
By  too  severe  a  doom  falls  on  our  heads. 
Disdain  not  to  be  taught,  though  by  a  woman. 


AGAMEMNON 


99 


is.  Ay ;  but  to  hear  this  vain,  tongue-doughty  bab- 
bler, 

Lavish  of  speech  that  tempts  to  desperate  deeds, 
It  moves  me  from  the  firmness  of  my  temper. 

Chor.  An  Argive  scorns  to  fawn  on  guilty  greatness. 
AZgis.  My  vengeance  shall  o'ertake  thee  at  the  last. 
Chor.  Not  if  just  Heaven  shall  guide  Orestes  hither. 
sEgis.  An  exile,  I  well  know,  feeds  on  vain  hopes. 
Chor.  Go  on  then,  gorge  with  blood ;  thou  hast  the 

means. 

JEgis.  This  folly,  be  assured,  shall  cost  thee  dear. 
Chor.  The  craven,  in  her  presence,  rears  his  crest. 
Cly.  Slight  men,  regard  them  not;  but  let  us  enter, 
Assume  our  state,  and  order  all  things  well. 


THE 
ANTIGONE  OF  SOPHOCLES 

TRANSLATED    BY 

RICHARD   CLAVERHOUSE   JEBB 


SOPHOCLES  was  born  in  496  B.C.  and  lived  to  the  age  of  ninety-one. 
His  father,  Sophillus,  was  a  wealthy  citizen  of  Colonos,  a  fashionable 
suburb  of  Athens,  and  the  young  dramatist  received  the  best  education 
that  Greece  could  afford.  In  music,  which  he  studied  under  Lamprocles, 
he  was  particularly  apt,  and  at  the  age  of  sixteen  he  was  chosen  to  lead 
a  chorus  of  youths  in  the  celebration  of  the  victory  of  Salamis  (480  B.  c.). 
He  was  frequently  employed  as  ambassador,  and  in  other  high  offices  in 
the  republic,  and  in  the  Samian  War  was  given  the  generalship  in  joint 
command  with  Pericles.  This  appointment  is  said  to  have  been  influ- 
enced by  the  great  popular  success  of  "Antigone."  At  twenty-eight  he 
competed  with  yEschylus,  and  was  awarded  the  prize  by  Cimon  and  his 
fellow-generals,  who  had  just  returned  from  Scyros  and  were  the  judges 
for  that  year  (468  B.  c.).  From  that  time  until  the  death  of  ./Eschylus  he 
divided  honours  about  equally  with  his  great  predecessor,  never  taking 
less  than  a  third  prize,  and  continually  growing  in  popularity.  Seven  of 
the  eighty  or  more  plays  that  he  is  supposed  to  have  written  remain  for 
our  study  and  enjoyment,  together  with  many  fragments  of  those  less 
fortunate  in  the  wreck  of  time.  The  probable  order  of  their  production 
is  as  follows:  "Ajax,"  "Antigone,"  "  Electra,"  "  CEdipus  Tyrannus," 
"  Trachinise,"  "  CEdipus  Coloneus,"  and  "  Philoctetes."  Cicero  voices  a 
popular  tradition  where  he  says,  in  his  essay  "On  Old  Age":  "Sopho- 
cles continued  in  extreme  old  age  to  write  tragedies.  As  he  seemed  to 
neglect  his  family  affairs  while  he  was  wholly  intent  on  his  dramatic 
compositions,  his  sons  instituted  a  suit  against  him  in  a  court  of  judica- 
ture, suggesting  that  his  understanding  was  impaired,  and  praying  that 
he  might  be  removed  from  the  management  of  his  estate.  It  is  said  that 
when  the  old  bard  appeared  in  court  on  this  occasion  he  desired  that  he 
might  be  permitted  to  read  a  play  which  he  had  lately  finished,  and 
which  he  then  held  in  his  hand;  it  was  his  'CEdipus  Coloneus.'  His 
request  being  granted,  after  he  had  finished  the  recital  he  appealed  to  the 
judges  whether  they  could  discover  in  his  performance  any  symptoms  of 
an  insane  mind,  and  the  result  was  that  the  court  unanimously  dismissed 
the  complainants'  petition."  The  poet  died  in  405.  "Philoctetes"  was 
produced  in  409,  and  "  CEdipus  Coloneus"  is  said  not  to  have  been  acted 
until  after  the  poet's  death. 


I 
DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


ANTIGONE. 
ISMENE. 
EURYDICE. 
CREON. 

H.-EMON. 

TEIRESIAS. 

GUARD. 

MESSENGER. 

SECOND  MESSENGER. 

CHORUS  OF  THEBAN  ELDERS. 

SCENE :  An  open  space  before  the  Royal  Palace  (once 
that  of  CEdipus)  at  Thebes.  The  back-scene  represents 
the  front  of  the  palace,  with  three  doors,  of  which  the 
central  is  the  largest,  being  the  principal  entrance  to 
the  court  of  the  house. 


ANTIGONE 


At  daybreak,  on  the  morning  after  the  fall  of  the  two  brothers  and  the 
flight  of  the  Argives.  ANTIGONE  calls  ISMENB  forth  from  the  house,  in 
order  to  speak  with  her  apart. 

AITIGONE.  Ismene,  my  sister,  mine  own  dear  sister, 
knowest  thou   what  ill   there  is,  of  all  bequeathed 
by  CEdipus,  that  Zeus  fulfils  not  for  us  twain  while 
we  live  ?     Nothing-  painful  is  there,  nothing  fraught  with 
ruin,  no  shame,  no  dishonour,  that  I  have   not  seen   in 
thy  woes  and  mine. 

And  now  what  new  edict  is  this  of  which  they  tell,  that 
our  Captain  hath  just  published  to  all  Thebes  ?  Knowest 
thou  aught  ?  Hast  thou  heard  ?  Or  is  it  hidden  from 
thee  that  our  friends  are  threatened  with  the  doom  of  our 
foes? 

Ismene.  No  word  of  friends,  Antigone,  gladsome  or 
painful,  hath  come  to  me,  since  we  two  sisters  were  bereft 
of  brothers  twain,- killed  in  one  day  by  a  twofold  blow; 
and  since  in  this  last  night  the  Argive  host  has  fled,  I 
know  no  more,  whether  my  fortune  be  brighter,  or  more 
grievous. 

An.  I  knew  it  well,  and  therefore  sought  to  bring  thee 
beyond  the  gates  of  the  court,  that  thou  mightest  hear 
alone. 

Is.  What  is  it?  Tis  plain  that  thou  art  brooding  on 
some  dark  tidings. 

5  105 


I06  SOPHOCLES 

An.  What!  hath  not  Creon  destined  our  brothers,  the 
one  to  honoured  burial,  the  other  to  unbtiried  shame? 
Eteocles,  they  say,  with  due  observance  of  right  and  cus- 
tom, he  hath  laid  in  the  earth,  for  his  honour  among  the 
dead  below.  But  the  hapless  corpse  of  Polyneices— as 
rumour  saith,  it  hath  been  published  to  the  town  that 
none  shall  entomb  him  or  mourn,  but  leave  unwept,  un- 
sepulchred,  a  welcome  store  for  the  birds,  as  they  espy 
him,  to  feast  on  at  will. 

Such,  'tis  said,  is  the  edict  that  the  good  Creon  hath 
set  forth  for  thee  and  for  me — yes,  for  me — and  is  coming 
hither  to  proclaim  it  clearly  to  those  who  know  it  not ; 
nor  counts  the  matter  light,  but,  whoso  disobeys  in  aught, 
his  doom  is  death  by  stoning  before  all  the  folk.  Thou 
knowest  it  now  ;  and  thou  wilt  soon  show  whether  thou 
art  nobly  bred,  or  the  base  daughter  of  a  nobler  line. 

Is.  Poor  sister — and  if  things  stand  thus,  what  could  I 
help  to  do  or  undo? 

An.  Consider  if  thou  wilt  share  the  toil  and  the  deed. 

Is.  In  what  venture?     What  can  be  thy  meaning? 

An.  Wilt  thou  aid  this  hand  to  lift  the  dead  ? 

Is.  Thou  wouldst  bury  him — when  'tis  forbidden  to 
Thebes? 

An.  I  will  do  my  part — and  thine,  if  thou  wilt  not — to 
a  brother.  False  to  him  will  I  never  be  found. 

Is.  Ah,  over-bold !  when  Creon  hath  forbidden  ? 

An.  Nay,  he  hath  no  right  to  keep  me  from  mine  own. 

Is.  Ah  me !  think,  sister,  how  our  father  perished, 
amid  hate  and  scorn,  when  sins  bared  by  his  own  search 
had  moved  him  to  strike  both  eyes  with  self-blinding 
hand  ;  then  the  mother  wife,  two  names  in  one,  with 
twisted  noose  did  despite  unto  her  life;  and  last,  our  two 
brothers  in  one  day — each  shedding,  hapless  one,  a  kins- 
man's blood — wrought  out  with  mutual  hands  their  com- 
mon doom.  And  now  nr  in  turn — we  two  left  all  alone — 
think  how  we  shall  perish,  more  miserably  than  all  the 
,  if,  in  defiance  of  the  law,  we  brave  a  king's  decree  or 


ANTK 


107 


his  powers.  Nay,  we  must  remember,  first,  that  we  were 
born  women,  as  who  should  not  strive  with  men  ;  next, 
that  we  are  ruled  of  the  stronger,  so  that  we  must  obey 
in  these  things,  and  in  things  yet  sorer.  I,  therefore,  ask- 
ing the  spirits  infernal  to  pardon,  seeing  that  force  is  put 
on  me  herein,  will  hearken  to  our  rulers ;  for  'tis  witless 
to  be  over-busy. 

An.  I  will  not  urge  thee — no,  nor,  if  thou  yet  shouldst 
have  the  mind,  wouldst  thou  be  welcome  as  a  worker  with 
me.  Nay,  be  what  thou  wilt ;  but  I  will  bury  him  :  well 
for  me  to  die  in  doing  that.  I  shall  rest,  a  loved  one  with 
him  whom  I  have  loved,  sinless  in  my  crime  ;  for  I  owe  a 
longer  allegiance  to  the  dead  than  to  the  living:  in  that 
world  I  shall  abide  forever.  But  if  thou  wilt,  be  guilty 
of  dishonouring  la\vs  which  the  gods  have  established  in 
honour. 

Is.  I  do  them  no  dishonour;  but  to  defy  the  state — I 
have  no  strength  for  that. 

An.  Such  be  thy  plea:  I,  then,  will  go  to  heap  the 
earth  above  the  brother  whom  I  love. 

Is.  Alas,  unhappy  one  !     How  I  fear  for  thee  ! 

An.  Fear  not  for  me  :  guide  thine  own  fate  aright. 

Is.  At  least,  then,  disclose  this  plan  to  none,  but  hide 
it  closely — and  so,  too,  will  I. 

An.  Oh,  denounce  it!  Thou  wilt  be  far  more  hateful 
for  thy  silence,  if  thou  proclaim  not  these  things  to  all. 

Is.  Thou  hast  a  hot  heart  for  chilling  deeds. 

An.  I  know  that  I  please  where  I  am  most  bound  to 
please. 

Is.  Ay,  if  thou  canst ;  but  thgu  wouldst  what  thou 
canst  not. 

An.  Why,  then,  when  my  strength  fails,  I  shall  have 
done. 

Is.  A  hopeless  quest  should  not  be  made  at  all. 

An.  If  thus  thou  speakest,  thou  wilt  have  hatred  from 
me,  and  wilt  justly  be  subject  to  the  lasting  hatred  of  the 
dead.  But  leave  me,  and  the  folly  that  is  mine  alone,  to 


I08  SOPHOCLES 

suffer  this  dread  thing ;   for  I   shall  not  suffer  aught  so 
dreadful  as  an  ignoble  death. 

Is.  Go,  then,  if  thou  must ;  and  of  this  be  sure — that, 
though  thine  errand  is  foolish,  to  thy  dear  ones  thou  art 
truly  dear. 

{Exit  ANTIGONE  on  the  spectators  left.     ISMENE 
retires  into  the  palace  by  one  of  the  two  side-doors. 

Chorus.  Beam  of  the  sun,  fairest  light  that  ever  dawned 
on  Thebe  of  the  seven  gates,  thou  hast  shone  forth  at  last, 
eye  of  golden  day,  arisen  above  Dirce's  streams !  The 
warrior  of  the  white  shield,  who  came  from  Argos  in  his 
panoply,  hath  been  stirred  by  thee  to  headlong  flight,  in 
swifter  career ;  who  set  forth  against  our  land  by  reason 
of  the  vexed  claims  of  Polyneices ;  and,  like  shrill-scream- 
ing eagle,  he  flew  over  into  our  land,  in  snow-white  pinion 
sheathed,  with  an  armed  throng,  and  with  plumage  of 
helms. 

He  paused  above  our  dwellings ;  he  ravened  around 
our  sevenfold  portals  with  spears  athirst  for  blood ;  but 
he  went  hence,  or  ever  his  jaws  were  glutted  with  our 
gore,  or  the  Fire-god's  pine-fed  flame  had  seized  our  crown 
of  towers.  So  fierce  was  the  noise  of  battle  raised  behind 
him,  a  thing  too  hard  for  him  to  conquer,  as  he  wrestled 
with  his  dragon  foe. 

For  Zeus  utterly  abhors  the  boasts  of  a  proud  tongue ; 
and  when  he  beheld  them  coming  on  in  a  great  stream,  in 
the  haughty  pride  of  clanging  gold,  he  smote  with  bran- 
dished fire  one  who  was  now  hasting  to  shout  victory  at 
his  goal  upon  our  ramparts. 

Swung  down,  he  fell  on  the  earth  with  a  crash,  torch 
in  hand,  he  who  so  lately,  in  the  frenzy  of  the  mad  onset, 
was  raging  against  us  with  the  blasts  of  his  tempestuous 
hate.  But  those  threats  fared  not  as  he  hoped  ;  and  to 
other  foes  the  mighty  War-god  dispensed  their  several 
dooms,  dealing  havoc  around,  a  mighty  helper  at  our 
need. 

For  seven  captains  at  seven  gates,  matched  against 


ANTIGONE 


109 


seven,  left  the  tribute  of  their  panoplies  to  Zeus  who  turns 
the  battle ;  save  those  two  of  cruel  fate,  who,  born  of  one 
sire  and  one  mother,  set  against  each  other  their  twain 
conquering  spears,  and  are  sharers  in  a  common  death. 

But  since  Victory  of  glorious  name  hath  come  to  us, 
with  joy  responsive  to  the  joy  of  Thebe  whose  chariots 
are  many,  let  us  enjoy  forgetfulness  after  the  late  wars, 
and  visit  all  the  temples  of  the  gods  with  night-long  dance 
and  song  ;  and  may  Bacchus  be  our  leader,  whose  dancing 
shakes  the  land  of  Thebe. 

But  lo,  the  king  of-  the  land  comes  yonder,  Creon,  son 
of  Menoeceus,  our  new  ruler  by  the  new  fortunes  that  the 
gods  have  given ;  what  counsel  is  he  pondering,  that  he 
hath  proposed  this  special  conference  of  elders,  summoned 
by  his  general  mandate  ? 

Enter  CREON,  from  the  central  doors  of  the  palace,  in  the 
garb  of  king;  with  two  attendants 

Creon.  Sirs,  the  vessel  of  our  state,  after  being  tossed  on 
wild  waves,  hath  once  more  been  safely  steadied  by  the 
gods :  and  ye,  out  of  all  the  folk,  have  been  called  apart 
by  my  summons,  because  I  knew,  first  of  all,  how  true  and 
constant  was  your  reverence  for  the  royal  power  of  Laius  ; 
how,  again,  when  OEdipus  was  ruler  of  our  land,  and  when 
he  had  perished,  your  steadfast  loyalty  still  upheld  their 
children.  Since,  then,  his  sons  have  fallen  in  one  day  by 
a  twofold  doom — each  smitten  by  the  other,  each  stained 
with  a  brother's  blood — I  now  possess  the  throne  and  all 
its  powers,  by  nearness  of  kinship  to  the  dead. 

No  man  can  be  fully  known,  in  soul  and  spirit  and 
mind,  until  he  hath  been  seen  versed  in  rule  and  law- 
giving.  For  if  any,  being  supreme  guide  of  the  state, 
cleaves  not  to  the  best  counsels,  but,  through  some  fear, 
keeps  kis  lips  locked,  I  hold,  and  have  ever  held,  him 
most  base ;  and  if  any  makes  a  friend  of  more  account 
than  his  fatherland,  that  man  hath  no  place  in  my  regard. 
For  I — be  Zeus  my  witness,  who  sees  all  things  always — 


IIO  SOPHOCLES 

would  not  be  silent  if  I  saw  ruin,  instead  of  safety,  coming 
to  the  citizens ;  nor  would  I  ever  deem  the  country's  foe 
a  friend  to  myself ;  remembering  this,  that  our  country  is 
the  ship  that  bears  us  safe,  and  that  only  while  she  pros- 
pers in  our  voyage  can  we  make  true  friends. 

Such  are  the  rules  by  which  I  guard  this  city's  great- 
ness. And  in  accord  with  them  is  the  edict  which  I  have 
now  published  to  the  folk  touching  the  sons  of  QEdipus  ; 
that  Eteocles,  who  hath  fallen  fighting  for  our  city,  in  all 
renown  of  arms,  shall  be  entombed,  and  crowned  with 
every  rite  that  follows  the  noblest  dead  to  their  rest.  But 
for  his  brother,  Polyneices — who  came  back  from  exile, 
and  sought  to  consume  utterly  with  fire  the  city  of  his 
fathers  and  the  shrines  of  his  fathers'  gods — sought  to 
taste  of  kindred  blood,  and  to  lead  the  remnant  into 
slavery — touching  this  man,  it  hath  been  proclaimed  to 
our  people  that  none  shall  grace  him  with  sepulture  or 
lament,  but  leave  him  unburied,  a  corpse  for  birds  and 
dogs  to  eat,  a  ghastly  sight  of  shame. 

Such  the  spirit  of  my  dealing ;  and  never,  by  deed  of 
mine,  shall  the  wicked  stand  in  honour  before  the  just ; 
but  whoso  hath  good-will  to  Thebes,  he  shall  be  honoured 
of  me,  in  his  life  and  in  his  death. 

Ch.  Such  is  thy  pleasure,  Creon,  son  of  Menceceus, 
touching  this  city's  foe,  and  its  friend ;  and  thou  hast 
power,  1  ween,  to  take  what  order  thou  wilt,  both  for  the 
dead  and  for  all  of  us  who  live. 

Cr.  See,  then,  that  ye  be  guardians  of  the  mandate. 

Ch.   Lav  the  burden  of  this  task  on  some  younger  man. 

Cr.  Nay,  watchers  of  the  corpse  have  been  found. 

Ch.  \Vhat,  then,  is  this  further  charge  that  thou 
wouldst  give? 

Cr.  That  ye  side  not  with  the  breakers  of  these  com- 
mands. 

Ch.   No  man  is  so  foolish  that  he  i^  enamoured  of  death. 

Cr.  In  M.oth,  thr.t  i^  th  •  meed  :  yd  lucre  hath  oft  ruined 
men  through  their  hoi  n 


ANTIGONE  III 

Enter  GUARD 

Guard.  My  liege,  I  will  not  say  that  I  come  breathless 
from  speed,  or  that  I  have  plied  a  nimble  foot ;  for  often  did 
my  thoughts  make  me  pause,  and  wheel  round  in  my  path, 
to  return.  My  mind  was  holding  large  discourse  with  me  : 
"  Fool,  why  goest  thou  to  thy  certain  doom  ?  "  "  Wretch, 
tarrying  again  ?  And  if  Creon  hears  this  from  another, 
must  not  thou  smart  for  it? "  So  debating,  I  went  on  my 
way  with  lagging  steps,  and  thus  a  short  road  was  made 
long.  At  last,  however,  it  carried  the  day  that  I  should 
come  hither — to  thee ;  and,  though  my  tale  be  naught, 
yet  will  I  tell  it ;  for  I  come  with  a  good  grip  on  one 
hope — that  I  can  suffer  nothing  but  what  is  my  fate. 

Cr.  And  what  is  it  that  disquiets  thee  thus? 

Gu.  I  wish  to  tell  thee  first  about  myself — I  did  not  do 
the  deed — I  did  not  see  the  doer — it  were  not  right  that  I 
should  come  to  any  harm. 

Cr.  Thou  hast  a  shrewd  eye  for  thy  mark  ;  well  dost 
thou  fence  thyself  round  against  the  blame — clearly  thou 
hast  some  strange  thing  to  tell. 

Gu.  Ay,  truly  ;  dread  news  makes  one  pause  long. 

Cr.  Then  tell  it,  wilt  thou,  and  so  get  thee  gone  ? 

Gu.  Well,  this  is  it. — The  corpse — some  one  hath  just 
given  it  burial,  and  gone  away — after  sprinkling  thirsty 
dust  on  the  flesh  with  such  other  rites  as  piety  enjoins. 

Cr.  What  sayest  thou  ?  What  living  man  hath  dared 
this  deed  ? 

Gu.  I  know  not ;  no  stroke  of  pickaxe  was  seen  there, 
no  earth  thrown  up  by  mattock  ;  the  ground  was  hard 
and  dry,  unbroken,  without  track  of  wheels ;  the  doer 
was  one  who  had  left  no  trace.  And  when  the  first  day- 
watchman  showed  it  to  us,  sore  wonder  fell  on  all.  The 
dead  man  was  veiled  from  us ;  not  shut  within  a  tomb, 
but  lightly  strewn  with  dust,  as  by  the  hand  of  one  who 
shunned  a  curse.  And  no  sign  met  the  eye  as  though 
any  beast  of  prey  or  any  dog  had  come  nigh  to  him,  or 
torn  him. 


112  SOPHOCLES 

Then  evil  words  flew  fast  and  loud  among  us,  guard 
accusing  guard  ;  and  it  would  e'en  have  come  to  blows  at 
last,  nor  was  there  any  to  hinder.  Every  man  was  the 
culprit,  and  no  one  was  convicted,  but  all  disclaimed 
knowledge  of  the  deed.  And  we  were  ready  to  take  red- 
hot  iron  in  our  hands — to  walk  through  fire — to  make 
oath  by  the  gods  that  we  had  not  done  the  deed — that  we 
were  not  privy  to  the  planning  or  the  doing. 

At  last,  when  all  our  searching  was  fruitless,  one 
spake,  who  made  us  all  bend  our  faces  on  the  earth  in 
fear ;  for  we  saw  not  how  we  could  gainsay  him,  or  es- 
cape mischance  if  we  obeyed.  His  counsel  was  that  this 
deed  must  be  reported  to  thee,  and  not  hidden.  And  this 
seemed  best ;  and  the  lot  doomed  my  hapless  self  to  win 
this  prize.  So  here  I  stand — as  unwelcome  as  unwilling, 
well  I  wot ;  for  no  man  delights  in  the  bearer  of  bad  news. 

Ch.  O  King,  my  thoughts  have  long  been  whispering, 
can  this  deed,  perchance,  be  e'en  the  work  of  gods  ? 

Cr.  Cease,  ere  thy  words  fill  me  utterly  with  wrath, 
lest  thou  be  found  at  once  an  old  man  and  foolish.  For 
thou  sayest  what  is  not  to  be  borne,  in  saying  that  the 
gods  have  care  for  this  corpse.  Was  it  for  high  reward 
of  trusty  service  that  they  sought  to  hide  his  nakedness, 
who  came  to  burn  their  pillared  shrines  and  sacred  treas- 
ures, to  burn  their  land,  and  scatter  its  laws  to  the  winds? 
Or  dost  thou  behold  the  gods  honouring  the  wicked  ?  It 
can  not  be.  No !  From  the  first  there  were  certain  in 
the  town  that  muttered  against  me,  chafing  at  this  edict, 
wagging  their  heads  in  secret ;  and  kept  not  their  necks 
duly  under  the  yoke,  like  men  contented  with  my  sway. 

Tis  by  them,  well  I  know,  that  these  have  been  be- 
guiled and  bribed  to  do  this  deed.  Nothing  so  evil  as 
money  ever  grew  to  be  current  among  men.  This  lays 
cities  low,  this  drives  men  from  their  homes,  this  trains 
and  warps  honest  souls  till  they  set  themselves  to  works 
of  shame ;  this  still  teaches  folk  to  practise  villanies,  and 
to  know  every  godless  deed. 


ANTIGONE  113 

But  all  the  men  who  wrought  this  thing  for  hire  have 
made  it  sure  that,  soon  or  late,  they  shall  pay  the  price. 
Now,  as  Zeus  still  hath  my  reverence,  know  this — I  tell 
it  thee  on  my  oath :  If  ye  find  not  the  very  author  of  this 
burial,  and  produce  him  before  mine  eyes,  death  alone 
shall  not  be  enough  for  you,  till  first  hung  up  alive,  ye 
have  revealed  this  outrage — that  henceforth  ye  may  thieve 
with  better  knowledge  whence  lucre  should  be  won,  and 
learn  that  it  is  not  well  to  love  gain  from  every  source. 
For  thou  wilt  find  that  ill-gotten  pelf  brings  more  men  to 
ruin  than  to  weal. 

Gu.  May  I  speak?     Or  shall  I  just  turn  and  go? 

Cr.  Knowest  thou  not  that  even  now  thy  voice  of- 
fends ? 

Gu.  Is  thy  smart  in  the  ears,  or  in  the  soul  ? 

Cr.  And  why  wouldst  thou  define  tjie  seat  of  my  pain  ? 

Gu.  The  doer  vexes  thy  mind,  but  I,  thine  ears. 

Cr.  Ah,  thou  art  a  born  babbler,  'tis  well  seen. 

Gu.  May  be,  but  never  the  doer  of  this  deed. 

Cr.  Yea,  and  more — the  seller  of  thy  life  for  silver. 

Gu.  Alas !  Tis  sad,  truly,  that  he  who  judges  should 
misjudge. 

Cr.  Let  thy  fancy  play  with  "  judgment  "  as  it  will  • 
but,  if  ye  show  me  not  the  doers  of  these  things,  ye  shall 
avow  that  dastardly  gains  work  sorrows.  {Exit. 

Gu.  Well,  may  he  be  found  !  so  'twere  best.  But,  be 
he  caught  or  be  he  not — fortune  must  settle  that — truly 
thou  wilt  not  see  me  here  again.  Saved,  even  now,  be- 
yond hope  and  thought,  I  owe  the  gods  great  thanks. 

[Exit. 

Chorus.  Wonders  are  many,  and  none  is  more  wonder- 
ful than  man  ;  the  power  that  crosses  the  white  sea,  driven 
by  the  stormy  south  wind,  making  a  path  under  surges 
that  threaten  to  ingulf  him  ;  and  Earth,  the  eldest  of  the 
gods,  the  immortal,  the  unwearied,  doth  he  wear,  turning 
the  soil  with  the  offspring  of  horses,  as  the  ploughs  go  to 
and  fro  from  year  to  year. 


H4  SOPHOCLES 

And  the  light-hearted  race  of  birds,  and  the  tribes  of 
savage  beasts,  and  the  sea-brood  of  the  deep,  he  snares  in 
the  meshes  of  his  woven  toils,  he  leads  captive — man  ex- 
cellent in  wit !  And  he  masters  by  his  arts  the  beast  whose 
lair  is  in  the  wilds,  who  roams  the  hills ;  he  tames  the 
horse  of  shaggy  mane,  he  puts  the  yoke  upon  its  neck,  he 
tames  the  tireless  mountain  bull. 

And  speech,  and  wind-swift  thought,  and  all  the  moods 
that  mould  a  state,  hath  he  taught  himself ;  and  how  to 
flee  the  arrows  of  the  frost,  when  'tis  hard  lodging  under 
the  clear  sky,  and  the  arrows  of  the  rushing  rain  ;  yea,  he 
hath  resource  for  all ;  without  resource  he  meets  nothing 
that  must  come  :  only  against  Death  shall  he  call  for  aid 
in  vain  ;  but  from  baffling  maladies  he  hath  devised  es- 
capes. 

Cunning  beyond  fancy's  dream  is  the  fertile  skill  which 
brings  him,  now  to  evil,  now  to  good.  When  he  honours 
the  laws  of  the  land,  and  that  justice  which  he  hath 
sworn  by  the  gods  to  uphold,  proudly  stands  his  city : 
no  city  hath  he  who,  for  his  rashness,  dwells  with  sin. 
Never  may  he  share  my  hearth,  never  think  my  thoughts, 
who  doth  these  things  ! 

Enter  the  GUARD,  on  the  spectators'  left,  leading 
ANTIGONE 

What  portent  from  the  gods  is  this? — my  soul  is 
amazed.  I  know  her — how  can  I  deny  that  yon  maiden 
is  Antigone? 

O  hapless,  and  child  of  hapless  sire — of  CEdipus ! 
What  means  this?  Thou  brought  a  prisoner? — thou,  dis- 
loyal to  the  king's  laws,  and  taken  in  folly  ? 

(in.  Here  she  is,  the  doer  of  the  deed  :  we  caught  this 
girl  burying  him — but  where  is  Creon  ? 

(  //.  Lo,  he  comes  forth  again  from  the  house,  at  our 
need. 

Cr.  What  is  it  ?  What  hath  chanced,  that  makes  my 
coming  tinu-ly  ? 


ANTIGONE  115 

Gu.  O  King,  against  nothing  should  men  pledge  their 
word  ;  for  the  after-thought  belies  the  first  intent.  I 
could  have  vowed  that  I  should  not  soon  be  here  again — 
scared  by  thy  threats,  with  which  I  had  just  been  lashed: 
but — since  the  joy  that  surprises  and  transcends  our  hopes 
is  like  in  fulness  to  no  other  pleasure — I  have  come, 
though  'tis  in  breach  of  my  sworn  oath,  bringing  this 
maid  ;  who  was  taken  showing  grace  to  the  dead.  This 
time  there  was  no  casting  of  lots ;  no,  this  luck  hath  fallen 
to  me,  and  to  none  else.  And  now,  Sire,  take  her  thyself, 
question  her,  examine  her,  as  thou  wilt ;  but  I  have  a 
right  to  free  and  final  quittance  of  this  trouble. 

Cr.  And  thy  prisoner  here — how  and  whence  hast 
thou  taken  her? 

Gu.  She  was  burying  the  man  ;  thou  knowest  all. 

Cr.  Dost  'thou  mean  what  thou  sayest  ?  Dost  thou 
speak  aright? 

Gu.  I  saw  her  burying  the  corpse  that  thou  hadst  for- 
bidden to  bury.  Is  that  plain  and  clear? 

Cr.  And  how  was  she  seen  ?  how  taken  in  the  act  ? 

Gu.  It  befell  on  this  wise  :  When  we  had  come  to  the 
place — with  those  dread  menaces  of  thine  upon  us — we 
swept  away  all  the  dust  that  covered  the  corpse,  and 
bared  the  dank  body  well ;  and  then  sat  us  down  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  to  windward,  heedful  that  the  smell  from 
him  should  not  strike  us  ;  every  man  was  wide  awake, 
and  kept  his  neighbour  alert  with  torrents  of  threats,  if 
any  one  should  be  careless  of  this  task. 

So  went  it,  until  the  sun's  bright  orb  stood  in  mid 
heaven,  and  the  heat  began  to  burn :  and  then  suddenly  a 
whirlwind  lifted  from  the  earth  a  storm  of  dust,  a  trouble 
in  the  sky,  and  filled  the  plain,  marring  all  the  leafage  of 
its  woods ;  and  the  wide  air  was  choked  therewith :  we 
closed  our  eyes,  and  bore  the  plague  from  the  gods. 

And  when,  after  a  long  while,  this  storm  had  passed, 
the  maid  was  seen ;  and  she  cried  aloud  with  the  sharp 
cry  of  a  bird  in  its  bitterness — even  as  when,  within  the 


Il6  SOPHOCLES 

empty  nest,  it  sees  the  bed  stripped  of  its  nestlings.  So 
she  also,  when  she  saw  the  corpse  bare,  lifted  up  a  voice 
of  wailing,  and  called  down  curses  on  the  doers  of  that 
deed.  And  straightway  she  brought  thirsty  dust  in  her 
hands  ;  and  from  a  shapely  ewer  of  bronze,  held  high,  with 
thrice-poured  drink-offering  she  crowned  the  dead. 

We  rushed  forward  when  we  saw  it,  and  at  once  closed 
upon  our  quarry,  who  was  in  no  wise  dismayed.  Then 
we  taxed  her  with  her  past  and  present  doings ;  and  she 
stood  not  on  denial  of  aught — at  once  to  my  joy  and  to  my 
pain.  To  have  escaped  from  ills  one's  self  is  a  great  joy ; 
but  'tis  painful  to  bring  friends  to  ill.  Howbeit,  all  such 
things  are  of  less  account  to  me  than  mine  own  safety. 

Cr.  Thou — thou  whose  face  is  bent  to  earth— dost  thou 
avow,  or  disavow,  this  deed  ? 

An.  I  avow  it;  I  make  no  denial. 

Cr.  (To  GUARD.)  Thou  canst  betake  thee  whither  thou 
wilt,  free  and  clear  of  a  grave  charge.  {Exit  GUARD. 

(To  ANTIGONE.)  Now,  tell  me  thou — not  in  many 
words,  but  briefly — knewest  thou  that  an  edict  had  for- 
bidden this? 

An,  I  knew  it:  could  I  help  it?     It  was  public. 

Cr.  'And  thou  didst  indeed  dare  to  transgress  that  law  ? 

An.  Yes ;  for  it  was  not  Zeus  that  had  published  me 
that  edict;  not  such  are  the  laws  set  among  men  by  the 
Justice  who  dwells  with  the  gods  below ;  nor  deemed  I 
that  thy  decrees  were  of  such  force,  that  a  mortal  could 
override  the  unwritten  and  unfailing  statutes  of  Heaven. 
For  their  life  is  not  of  to-day  or  yesterday,  but  from  all 
time,  and  no  man  knows  when  they  were  first  put  forth. 

Not  through  dread  of  any  human  pride  could  I  answer 
to  the  gods  for  breaking  these.  Die  I  must— I  knew  that 
well  (how  should  I  not?) — even  without  thy  edicts.  But 
if  I  am  to  die  before  my  time,  I  count  that  a  gain :  for 
when  any  one  lives,  as  I  do,  compassed  about  with  evils, 
can  such  a  one  find  aught  but  gain  in  death  ? 

So  for  me  to  meet,  lliis  doom  is  trifling  grief;  but  if  I 


ANTIGONE 

had  suffered  my  mother's  son  to  lie  in  death  an  unburied 
corpse,  that  would  have  grieved  me ;  for  this,  I  am  not 
grieved.  And  if  my  present  deeds  are  foolish  in  thy 
sight,  it  may  be  that  a  foolish  judge  arraigns  my  folly. 

Ch.  The  maid  shows  herself  passionate  child  of  pas- 
sionate sire,  and  knows  not  how  to  bend  before  troubles. " 

Cr.  Yet  I  would  have  thee  know  that  o'er-stubborn 
spirits  are  most  often  humbled  ;  'tis  the  stiffest  iron,  baked 
to  hardness  in  the  fire,  that  thou  shalt  oftenest  see  snapped 
and  shivered ;  and  I  have  seen  horses  that  show  temper 
brought  to  order  by  a  little  curb ;  there  is  no  room  for 
pride,  when  thou  art  thy  neighbour's  slave.  This  girl  was 
already  versed  in  insolence  when  she  transgressed  the 
laws  that  had  been  set  forth  ;  and,  that  done,  lo!  a  second 
insult — to  vaunt  of  this,  and  exult  in  her  deed. 

Now  verily  I  am  no  man,  she  is  the  man,  if  this  victory 
shall  rest  with  her,  and  bring  no  penalty.  No !  be  she 
sister's  child,  or  nearer  to  me  in  blood  than  any  that  wor- 
ships Zeus  at  the  altar  of  our  house — she  and  her  kinsfolk 
shall  not  avoid  a  doom  most  dire ;  for  indeed  I  charge 
that  other  with  a  like  share  in  the  plotting  of  this  burial. 

And  summon  her — for  I  saw  her  e'en  now  within — 
raving,  and  not  mistress  of  her  wits.  So  oft,  before  the 
deed,  the  mind  stands  self-convicted  in  its  treason,  when 
folks  are  plotting  mischief  in  the  dark.  But  verily  this, 
too,  is  hateful — when  one  who  hath  been  caught  in 
wickedness  then  seeks  to  make  the  crime  a  glory. 

An.  Wouldst  thou  do  more  than  take  and  slay  me? 

Cr.  No  more,  indeed  ;  having  that,  I  have  all. 

An.  Why  then  dost  thou  delay?  In  thy  discourse 
there  is  naught  that  pleases  me — never  may  there  be ! — 
and  so  my  words  must  needs  be  unpleasing  to  thee.  And 
yet,  for  glory — whence  could  I  have  won  a  nobler,  than 
by  giving  burial  to  mine  own  brother  ?  All  here  would 
own  that  they  thought  it  well,  were  not  their  lips  sealed 
by  fear.  But  royalty,  blest  in  so  much  besides,  hath  the 
power  to  do  and  say  what  it  will. 


Z18  SOPHOCLES 

Cr.  Thou  differest  from  all  these  Thebans  in  that 
view. 

An.  These  also  share  it ;  but  they  curb  their  tongues 
for  thee. 

Cr.  And  art  thou  not  ashamed  to  act  apart  from 
them  ? 

An.  No ;  there  is  nothing  shameful  in  piety  to  a 
brother. 

Cr.  Was  it  not  a  brother,  too,  that  died  in  the  op- 
posite cause  ? 

An.  Brother  by  the  same  mother  and  the  same  sire. 

Cr.  Why,  then,  dost  thou  render  a  grace  that  is  im- 
pious in  his  sight  ? 

An.  The  dead  man  will  not  say  that  he  so  deems  it. 

Cr.  Yea,  if  thou  makest  him  but  equal  in  honour  with 
the  wicked. 

An.  It  was  his  brother,  not  his  slave,  that  perished. 

Cr.  Wasting  this  land  ;  while  he  fell  as  its  champion. 

An.  Nevertheless,  Hades  desires  these  rites. 

Cr.  But  the  good  desires  not  a  like  portion  with  the 
evil. 

An.  Who  knows  but  this  seems  blameless  in  the  world 
below  ? 

Cr.  A  foe  is  never  a  friend — not  even  in  death. 

An.  Tis  not  my  nature  to  join  in  hating,  but  in  loving. 

Cr.  Pass,  then,  to  the  world  of  the  dead,  and,  if  thou 
must  needs  love,  love  them.  While  I  live,  no  woman 
shall  rule  me. 

Enter  ISMENE  from  the  house,  led  in  by  two  attendants 
Ch.  Lo,  yonder  Ismene    comes   forth,  shedding   such 
tears  as  fond  sisters  weep ;  a  cloud  upon  her  brow  casts 
its  shadow  over  her  darkly  flushing  face,  and  breaks  in  on 
her  fair  cheek. 

Cr.  And  thou,  who,  lurking  like  a  viper  in  my  house, 
wast  secretly  draining  my  life-blood,  while  I  knew  not 
that  I  was  nurturing  two  pests,  to  rise  against  my  throne— 


ANTIGONE  U9 

come,  tell  me  now,  wilt  thou  also  confess  thy  part  in  this 
burial,  or  wilt  thou  forswear  all  knowledge  of  it? 

Is.  I  have  done  the  deed — if  she  allows  my  claim — 
and  share  the  burden  of  the  charge. 

An.  Nay,  justice  will  not  suffer  thee  to  do  that:  thou 
didst  not  consent  to  the  deed,  nor  did  I  give  thee  part 
in  it. 

Is.  But,  now  that  ills  beset  thee,  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
sail  the  sea  of  trouble  at  thy  side. 

An.  Whose  was  the  deed,  Hades  and  the  dead  are  wit- 
nesses :  a  friend  in  words  is  not  the  friend  that  I  love. 

Is.  Nay,  sister,  reject  me  not,  but  let  me  die  with  thee, 
and  duly  honour  the  dead. 

An.  Share  not  thou  my  death,  nor  claim  deeds  to  which 
thou  hast  not  put  thy  hand :  my  death  will  suffice. 

Is.  And  what  life  is  dear  to  me,  bereft  of  thee? 

An.  Ask  Creon  ;  all  thy  care  is  for  him. 

Is.  Why  vex  me  thus,  when  it  avails  thee  naught? 

An.  Indeed,  if  I  mock,  'tis  with  pain  that  I  mock  thee. 

Is.  Tell  me — how  can  I  serve  thee,  even  now  ? 

An.  Save  thyself:  I  grudge  not  thy  escape. 

Is.  Ah,  woe  is  me !  And  shall  I  have  no  share  in  thy 
fate? 

An.  Thy  choice  was  to  live  ;  mine,  to  die. 

Is.  At  least  thy  choice  was  not  made  without  my 
protest. 

An.  One  world  approved  thy  wisdom  ;  another  mine. 

Is.  Howbeit,  the  offence  is  the  same  for  both  of  us. 

An.  Be  of  good  cheer;  thou  livest ;  but  my  life  hath 
long  been  given  to  death,  that  so  I  might  serve  the  dead. 

Cr.  Lo,  one  of  these  maidens  hath  newly  shown  her- 
self foolish,  as  the  other  hath  been  since  her  life  began. 

Is.  Yea,  O  King,  such  reason  as  Nature  may  have  given 
abides  not  with  the  unfortunate,  but  goes  astray. 

Cr.  Thine  did,  when  thou  chosest  vile  deeds  with 
the  vile. 

Is.  What  life  could  I  endure,  without  her  presence? 


I20  SOPHOCLES 

Cr.  Nay,  speak  not  of  her  "  presence  " ;  she  lives  no 
more. 

Is.  But  wilt  thou  slay  the  betrothed  of  thine  own  son  ? 

Cr.  Nay,  there  are  other  fields  for  him  to  plough. 

Is.  But  there  can  never  be  such  love  as  bound  him 
to  her. 

Cr.  I  like  not  an  evil  wife  for  my  son. 

An.  Hasmon,  beloved  !     How  thy  father  wrongs  thee  ! 

Cr.  Enough,  enough  of  thee  and  of  thy  marriage  ! 

Ch.  Wilt  thou  indeed  rob  thy  son  of  this  maiden  ? 

Cr.  Tis  Death  that  shall  stay  these  bridals  for  me. 

Ch.  'Tis  determined,  it  seems,  that  she  shall  die. 

Cr.  Determined,  yes,  for  thee  and  for  me. — (To  the  two 
attendants^)  No  more  delay — servants,  take  them  within  ! 
Henceforth  they  must  be  women,  and  not  range  at  large ; 
for  verily  even  the  bold  seek  to  fly,  when  they  see  Death 
now  closing  on  their  life. 

\Exeunt  attendants,  guarding  ANTIGONE  and  ISMENE. — 
CREON  remains 

Ch.  Blest  are  they  whose  days  have  not  tasted  of  evil. 
For  when  a  house  hath  once  been  shaken  from  heaven, 
there  the  curse  fails  nevermpre,  passing  from  life  to  life 
of  the  race ;  even  as,  when  the  surge  is  driven  over  the 
darkness  of  the  deep  by  the  fierce  breath  of  Thracian  sea- 
winds,  it  rolls  up  the  black  sand  from  the  depths,  and 
there  is  a  sullen  roar  from  wind-vexed  headlands  that 
front  the  blows  of  the  storm. 

I  see  that  from  olden  time  the  sorrows  in  the  house  of 
the  Labdacidae  are  heaped  upon  the  sorrows  of  the  dead ; 
and  generation  is  not  freed  by  generation,  but  some  god 
strikes  them  down,  and  the  race  hath  no  deliverance. 

For  now  that  hope  of  which  the  light  had  been  spread 
above  the  last  root  of  the  house  of  CEdipus — that  hope,  in 
turn,  is  brought  low — by  the  blood-stained  dust  due  to 
the  gods  infernal,  and  by  folly  in  speech,  and  frenzy  at  the 
heart. 


ANTIGONE  121 

* 

Thy  power,  O  Zeus,  what  human  trespass  can  limit? 
That  power  which  neither  Sleep,  the  all-ensnaring,  nor 
the  untiring-  months  of  the  gods  can  master ;  but  thou,  a 
ruler  to  whom  time  brings  not  old  age,  dwellest  in  the 
dazzling  splendour  of  Olympus. 

And  through  the  future,  near  and  far,  as  through  the 
past,  shall  this  law  hold  good  :  Nothing  that  is  vast  enters 
into  the  life  of  mortals  without  a  curse. 

For  that  hope  whose  wanderings  are  so  wide  is  to  many 
men  a  comfort,  but  to  many  a  false  lure  of  giddy  desires ; 
and  the  disappointment  comes  on  one  who  knoweth  naught 
till  he  burn  his  foot  against  the  hot  fire. 

For  with  wisdom  hath  some  one  given  forth  the  fa- 
mous saying,  that  evil  seems  good,  soon  or  late,  to  him 
whose  mind  the  god  draws  to  mischief ;  and  but  for  the 
briefest  space  doth  he  fare  free  of  woe. 

But  lo,  Hasmon,  the  last  of  thy  sons — comes  he  griev- 
ing for  the  doom  of  his  promised  bride,  Antigone,  and 
bitter  for  the  baffled  hope  of  his  marriage  ? 

Enter  H^MON 

Cr.  We  shall  know  soon,  better  than  seers  could  tell 
us. — My  son,  hearing  the  fixed  doom  of  thy  betrothed, 
art  thou  come  in  rage  against  thy  father?  Or  have  I  thy 
good-will,  act  how  I  may  ? 

Hce.  Father,  T  am  thine ;  and  thou,  in  thy  wisdom, 
tracest  for  me  rules  which  I  shall  follow.  No  marriage 
shall  be  deemed  by  me  a  greater  gain  than  thy  good 
guidance. 

Cr.  Yea,  this,  my  son,  should  be  thy  heart's  fixed  law 
— in  all  things  to  obey  thy  father's  will.  'Tis  for  this  that 
men  pray  to  see  dutiful  children  grow  up  around  them  in 
their  homes — that  such  may  requite  their  father's  foe  with 
evil,  and  honour,  as  their  father  doth,  his  friend.  But  he 
who  begets  unprofitable  children — what  shall  we  say  that 
he  hath  sown,  but  troubles  for  himself,  and  much  triumph 
for  his  foes?  Then  do  not  thou,  my  son,  at  pleasure's 


122  SOPHOCLES 

beck,  dethrone  thy  reason  for  a  woman's  sake;  knowing 
that  this  is  a  joy  that  soon  grows  cold  in  clasping  arms— 
an  evil  woman  to  share  thy  bed  and  thy  home.  For  what 
wound  could  strike  deeper  than  a  false  friend  ?  Nay,  with 
loathing,  and  as  if  she  were  thine  enemy,  let  this  girl  go 
to  find  a  husband  in  the  house  of  Hades.  For  since  I 
have  taken  her,  alone  of  all  the  city,  in  open  disobedi- 
ence, I  will  not  make  myself  a  liar  to  my  people — I  will 
slay  her. 

So  let  her  appeal  as  she  will  to  the  majesty  of  kindred 
blood.  If  I  am  to  nurture  mine  own  kindred  in  naughti- 
ness, needs  must  I  bear  with  it  in  aliens.  He  who  does 
his  duty  in  his  own  household  will  be  found  righteous  in 
the  state  also.  But  if  any  one  transgresses,  and  does  vio- 
lence to  the  laws,  or  thinks  to  dictate  to  his  rulers,  such 
a  one  can  win  no  praise  from  me.  No,  whomsoever  the 
city  may  appoint,  that  man  must  be  obeyed,  in  little 
things  and  great,  in  just  things  and  unjust ;  and  I  should 
feel  sure  that  one  who  thus  obeys  would  be  a  good  ruler 
no  less  than  a  good  subject,  and  in  the  storm  of  s'pears 
would  stand  his  ground  where  he  was  set,  loyal  and 
dauntless  at  his  comrade's  side. 

But  disobedience  is  the  worst  of  evils.  This  it  is  that 
ruins  cities  ;  this  makes  homes  desolate  ;  by  this,  the  ranks 
of  allies  are  broken  into  headlong  rout :  but,  of  the  lives 
whose  course  is  fair,  the  greater  part  owes  safety  to  obe- 
dience. Therefore  we  must  support  the  cause  of  order, 
and  in  no  wise  suffer  a  woman  to  worst  us.  Better  to 
fall  from  power,  if  we  must,  by  a  man's  hand  ;  then  we 
should  not  be  called  weaker  than  a  woman. 

Ch.  To  us,  unless  our  years  have  stolen  our  wit  thou 
seemest  to  say  wisely  what  thou  sayest. 

H<z.  Father,  the  gods  implant  reason  in  men,  the 
highest  of  all  things  that  we  call  our  own.  Not  mine 
the  skill — far  from  me  be  the  quest ! — to  say  wherein  thou 
speakest  not  aright ;  and  yet  another  man,  too,  might  have 
some  useful  thought.  At  least,  it  is  my  natural  office  to 


ANTIGONE  123 

watch,  on  thy  behalf,  all  that  men  say,  or  do,  or  find  to 
blame.  For  the  dread  of  thy  frown  forbids  the  citizen  to 
speak  such  words  as  would  offend  thine  ear ;  but  I  can 
hear  these  murmurs  in  the  dark,  these  meanings  of  the 
city  for  this  maiden;  "  No  woman,"  they  say,  "ever  mer- 
ited her  doom  less — none  ever  was  to  die  so  shamefully 
for  deeds  so  glorious  as  hers  ;  who,  when  her  own  brother 
had  fallen  in  bloody  strife,  would  not  leave  him  unburied, 
to  be  devoured  by  carrion  dogs,  or  by  any  bird : — de- 
serves not  she  the  meed  of  golden  honour?  " 

Such  is  the  darkling  rumour  that  spreads  in  secret. 
For  me,  my  father,  no  treasure  is  so  precious  as  thy  wel- 
fare. What,  indeed,  is  a  nobler  ornament  for  children 
than  a  prospering  sire's  fair  fame,  or  for  sire  than  son's  ? 
Wear  not,  then,  one  mood  only  in  thyself ;  think  not  that 
thy  word,  and  thine  alone,  must  be  right.  For  if  any  man 
thinks  that  he  alone  is  wise — that  in  speech,  or  in  mind, 
he  hath  no  peer — such  a  soul,  when  laid  open,  is  ever 
found  empty. 

No,  though  a  man  be  wise,  'tis  no  shame  for  him  to 
learn  many  things,  and  to  bend  in  season.  Seest  thou, 
beside  the  wintry  torrent's  course,  how  the  trees  that 
yield  to  it  save  every  twig,  while  the  stiff-necked  perish 
root  and  branch?  And  even  thus  he  who  keeps  the  sheet 
of  his  sail  taut,  and  never  slackens  it,  upsets  his  boat,  and 
finishes  his  voyage  with  keel  uppermost. 

Nay,  forego  thy  wrath  ;  permit  thyself  to  change.  For 
if  I,  a  younger  man,  may  offer  my  thought,  it  were  far 
best,  I  ween,  that  men  should  be  all-wise  by  nature  ;  but, 
otherwise — and  oft  the  scale  inclines  not  so — 'tis  good 
also  to  learn  from  those  who  speak  aright. 

Ch.  Sire,  'tis  meet  that  thou  shouldst  profit  by  his 
words,  if  he  speaks  aught  in  season,  and  thou,  Hsemon, 
by  thy  father's  ;  for  on  both  parts  there  hath  been  wise 
speech. 

Cr.  Men  of  my  age — are  we  indeed  to  be  schooled, 
then,  by  men  of  his  ? 


I24 


SOPHOCLES 


Ihc.  In  nothing  that  is  not  right ;  but  if  I  am  young, 
thou  shouldst  look  to  my  merits,  not  to  my  years. 

Cr.  Is  it  a  merit  to  honour  the  unruly  ? 

Ha.  I  could  wish  no  one  to  show  respect  for  evil-doers. 

Cr.  Then  is  not  she  tainted  with  that  malady  ? 

Ha.  Our  Theban  folk,  with  one  voice,  denies  it. 

Cr.  Shall  Thebes  prescribe  to  me  how  I  must  rule  ? 

Ha.  See,  there  thou  hast  spoken  like  a  youth  indeed. 

Cr.  Am  I  to  rule  this  land  by  other  judgment  than 
mine  own  ? 

Ha.  That  is  no  city,  which  belongs  to  one  man. 

Cr.  Is  not  the  city  held  to  be  the  ruler's? 

Ha.  Thou  wouldst  make  a  good  monarch  of  a  desert. 

Cr.  This  boy,  it  seems,  is  the  woman's  champion. 

Ha.  If  thou  art  a  woman ;  indeed,  my  care  is  for  thee. 

Cr.  Shameless,  at  open  feud  with  thy  father ! 

Ha.  Nay,  I  see  thee  offending  against  justice. 

Cr.  Do  I  offend,  when  I  respect  rnine  own  preroga- 
tives? 

Ha.  Thou  dost  not  respect  them,  when  thou  tramplest 
on  the  gods'  honours. 

Cr.  O  dastard  nature,  yielding  place  to  a  woman ! 

Ha.  Thou  wilt  never  find  me.  yield  to  baseness. 

Cr.  All  thy  words,  at  least,  plead  for  that  girl. 

Ha.  And  for  thee,  and  for  me,  and  for  the  gods  below. 

Cr.  Thou  canst  never  marry  her,  on  this  side  the  grave. 

Ha.  Then  she  must  die,  and  in  death  destroy  another. 

Cr.  How  !  doth  thy  boldness  run  to  open  threats? 

Ha.  What  threat  is  it,  to  combat  vain  resolves? 

Cr.  Thou  shalt  rue  thy  witless  teaching  of  wisdom. 

Ha.  Wert  thou  not  my  father,  I  would  have  called 
thee  unwise. 

Cr.  Thou  woman's  slave,  use  not  wheedling  speech 
with  me. 

If«".  Thou  wouldst  speak,  and  then  hear  no  reply? 

Cr.  Sayest  thou  so?  Now,  bv  the  heaven  above  us— 
be  sure  of  it— thou  shall  smart  for  taunting  me  in  this 


ANTIGONE  125 

opprobrious  strain. — Bring  forth  that  hated  thing,  that 
she  may  die  forthwith  in  his  presence — before  his  eyes — 
at  her  bridegroom's  side! 

HCB.  No,  not  at  my  side — never  think  it — shall  she  per- 
ish ;  nor  shalt  thou  ever  set  eyes  more  upon  my  face : — 
rave,  then,  with  such  friends  as  can  endure  thee. 

{Exit    HyEMON. 

Ch.  The  man  is  gone,  O  King,  in  angry  haste  ;  a  youth- 
ful mind,  when  stung,  is  fierce. 

Cr.  Let  him  do,  or  dream,  more  than  man — good  speed 
to  him ! — But  he  shall  not  save  these  two  girls  from  their 
doom. 

Ch.  Dost  thou  indeed  purpose  to  slay  both  ? 

Cr.  Not  her  whose  hands  are  pure :  thou  sayest  well. 

Ch.  And  by  what  doom  mean'st  thou  to  slay  the 
other  ? 

Cr.  I  will  take  her  where  the  path  is  loneliest,  and 
hide  her,  living,  in  a  rocky  vault,  with  so  much  food  set 
forth  as  piety  prescribes,  that  the  city  may  avoid  a  public 
stain.  And  there,  praying  to  Hades,  the  only  god  whom 
she  worships,  perchance  she  will  obtain  release  from 
death ;  or  else  will  learn,  at  last,  though  late,  that  it  is 
lost  labour  to  revere  the  dead.  {Exit  CREON. 

Ch.  Love,  unconquered  in  the  fight,  Love,  who  makest 
havoc  of  wealth,  who  keepest  thy  vigil  on  the  soft  cheek 
of  a  maiden  ;  thou  roamest  over  the  sea,  and  among  the 
homes  of  dwellers  in  the  wilds  ;  no  immortal  can  escape 
thee,  nor  any  among  men  whose  life  is  for  a  day ;  and  he 
to  whom  thou  hast  come  is  mad.  [ANTIGONE  is  led  in. 

The  just  themselves  have  their  minds  warped  by  thee 
to  wrong,  for  their  ruin  :  'tis  thou  that  hast  stirred  up  this 
present  strife  of  kinsmen ;  victorious  is  the  love-kindling 
light  from  the  eyes  of  the  fair  bride ;  it  is  a  power  en- 
throned in  sway  beside  the  eternal  laws ;  for  there  the 
goddess  Aphrodite  is  working  her  unconquerable  will. 

But  now  I  also  am  carried  beyond  the  bounds  of 
loyalty,  and  can  no  more  keep  back  the  streaming  tears, 


I26  SOPHOCLES 

when  I  see  Antigone  thus  passing  to  the  bridal  chamber 
where  all  are  laid  to  rest. 

An.  See  me,  citizens  of  my  fatherland,  setting  forth  on 
my  last  way,  looking  my  last  on  the  sunlight  that  is  for 
me  no  more  ;  no,  Hades,  who  gives  sleep  to  all,  leads  me 
living  to  Acheron's  shore;  who  have  had  no  portion  in 
the  chant  that  brings  the  bride,  nor  hath  any  song  been 
mine  for  the  crowning  of  bridals  ;  whom  the  lord  of  the 
Dark  Lake  shall  wed. 

Ch.  Glorious,  therefore,  and  with  praise,  thou  de- 
partest  to  that  deep  place  of  the  dead :  wasting  sick- 
ness hath  not  smitten  thee ;  thou  hast  not  found  the 
wages  of  the  sword  ;  no,  mistress  of  thine  own  fate,  and 
still  alive,  thou  shalt  pass  to  Hades,  as  no  other  of  mortal 
kind  hath  passed. 

An.  I  have  heard  in  other  days  how  dread  a  doom 
befell  our  Phrygian  guest,  the  daughter  of  Tantalus,  on 
the  Sipylian  heights  ;  how,  like  clinging  ivy,  the  growth  of 
stone  subdued  her  ;  and  the  rains  fail  not,  as  men  tell, 
from  her  wasting  form,  nor  fails  the  snow,  while  beneath 
her  weeping  lids  the  tears  bedew  her  bosom  ;  and  most 
like  to  hers  is  the  fate  that  brings  me  to  my  rest. 

Ch.  Yet  she  was  a  goddess,  thou  knowest,  and  born  of 
gods;  we  are  mortals,  and  of  mortal  race.  But,  'tis  great 
renown  for  a  woman  who  hath  perished  that  she  should 
have  shared  the  doom  of  the  godlike,  in  her  life,  and 
afterward  in  death. 

An.  Ah,  I  am  mocked!  In  the  name  of  our  fathers' 
gods,  can  ye  not  wait  till  I  am  gone — must  ye  taunt  me 
to  ray  face,  O  my  city,  and  ye,  her  wealthy  sons?  Ah, 
fount  of  Dirce,  and  thou  holy  ground  of  Thebe  whose 
chariots  are  many  ;  ye,  at  least,  will  bear  me  witness,  in 
what  sort,  unwept  of  friends,  and  by  what  laws  I  pass  to 
the  rock-closed  prison  of  my  strange  tomb,  ah  me,  un. 
happy  !  \vho  have  no  home  on  the  earth  or  in  the  shades, 
no  home  with  the  living  or  with  the  dead. 

Cli.  Thou  hast  rushed  forward  to  the  utmost  verge  of 


ANTIGONE 


127 


daring  ;  and  against  that  throne  where  Justice  sits  on 
high  thou  hast  fallen,  my  daughter,  with  a  grievous 
fall.  But  in  this  ordeal  thou  art  paying,  haply,  for  thy 
father's  sin. 

An.  Thou  hast  touched  on  my  bitterest  thought — 
awaking  the  ever-new  lament  for  my  sire  and  for  all  the 
doom  given  to  us,  the  famed  house  of  Labdacus.  Alas 
for  the  horrors  of  the  mother's  bed  !  alas  for  the  wretched 
mother's  slumber  at  the  side  of  her  own  son — and  my  sire ! 
From  what  manner  of  parents  did  I  take  my  miserable 
being  !  And  to  them  I  go  thus,  accursed,  unwed,  to  share 
their  home.  Alas,  my  brother,  ill-starred  in  thy  marriage, 
in  thy  death  thou  hast  undone  my  life ! 

Ch.  Reverent  action  claims  a  certain  praise  for  rever- 
ence ;  but  an  offence  against  power  can  not  be  brooked 
by  him  who  hath  power  in  his  keeping.  Thy  self-willed 
temper  hath  wrought  thy  ruin. 

An.  Unwept,  unfriended,  without  marriage-song,  I  am 
led  forth  in  my  sorrow  on  this  journey  that  can  be  de- 
layed no  more.  No  longer,  hapless  one,  may  I  behold  yon 
day-star's  sacred  eye ;  but  for  my  fate  no  tear  is  shed,  no 

friend  makes  moan. 

Enter  CREON 

Cr.  Know  ye  not  that  songs  and  wailings  before  death 
would  never  cease,  if  it  profited  to  utter  them  ?  Away 
with  her — away  !  And  when  ye  have  inclosed  her,  ac- 
cording to  my  word,  in  her  vaulted  grave,  leave  her 
alone,  forlorn — whether  she  wishes  to  die,  or  to  live  a 
buried  life  in  such  a  home.  Our  hands  are  clean  as  touch- 
ing this  maiden.  But  this  is  certain — she  shall  be  deprived 
of  her  sojourn  in  the  light. 

An.  Tomb,  bridal  chamber,  eternal  prison  in  the  cav- 
erned  rock,  whither  I  go  to  find  mine  own,  those  many 
who  have  perished,  and  whom  Persephone  hath  received 
among  the  dead  !  Last  of  all  shall  I  pass  thither,  and  far 
most  miserably  of  all,  before  the  term  of  my  life  is  spent. 
But  I  cherish  good  hope  that  my  coming  will  be  welcome 


128  SOPHOCLES 

to  my  father,  and  pleasant  to  thee,  my  mother,  and  wel- 
come, brother,  to  thee;  for,  when  you  died,  with  mine 
own  hands  I  washed  and  dressed  you,  and  poured  drink- 
offerings  at  your  graves;  and  now,  Polyneices,  'tis  for 
tending  thy  corpse  that  I  win  such  recompense  as  this. 

[And  yet  I  honoured  thee,  as  the  wise  will  deem, 
rightly.  Never  had  I  been  a  mother  of  children,  or  if  a 
husband  had  been  mouldering  in  death,  would  I  have 
taken  this  task  upon  me  in  the  city's  despite.  What  law, 
ye  ask,  is  my  warrant  for  that  word  ?  The  husband  lost, 
another  might  have  been  found,  and  child  from  another, 
to  replace  the  first-born ;  but,  father  and  mother  hidden 
with  Hades,  no  brother's  life  could  ever  bloom  for  me 
again.  Such  was  the  law  whereby  I  held  thee  first  in 
honour;  but  Creon  deemed  me  guilty  of  error  therein, 
and  of  outrage,  ah  brother  mine !  And  now  he  leads  me 
thus,  a  captive  in  his  hands;  no  bridal  bed,  no  bridal  song 
hath  been  mine,  no  joy  of  marriage,  no  portion  in  the 
nurture  of  children  ;  but  thus,  forlorn  of  friends,  unhappy 
one,  I  go  living  to  the  vaults  of  death.] 

And  what  law  of  Heaven  have  I  transgressed  r  Why, 
hapless  one,  should  I  look  to  the  gods  any  more — what 
ally  should  I  invoke— when  by  piety  I  have  earned  the 
name  of  impious?  Nay,  then,  if  these  things  are  pleasing 
to  the  gods,  when  I  have  suffered  my'doom,  I  shall  come 
to  know  my  sin ;  but  if  the  sin  is  with  my  judges,  I  could 
wish  them  no  fuller  measure  of  evil  than  they,  on  their 
part,  mete  wrongfully  to  me. 

Ch.  Still  the  same  tempest  of  the  soul  vexes  this  maiden 
with  the  same  fierce  gusts. 

Cr,  Then  for  this  shall  her  guards  have  cause  to  rue 
their  slowness. 

An.  Ah  me!  that  word  hath  come  very  near  to  death. 

Cr.  I  can  cheer  thee  with  no  hope  that  this  doom  is 
not  thus  to  be  fulfilled. 

An.  O  city  of  my  fathers  in  the  land  of  Thebe  !  O  ye 
gods,  eldest  of  our  race!— they  lead  me  hence— now,  now 


ANTIGONE 


129 


— they  tarry  not !  Behold  me,  princes  of  Thebes,  the  last 
daughter  of  the  house  of  your  kings — see  what  I  suffer, 
and  from  whom,  because  I  feared  to  cast  away  the  fear  of 
Heaven  !  [ANTIGONE  is  led  away  by  the  guards. 

Ck.  Even  thus  endured  Danae  in  her  beauty  to  change 
the  light  of  day  for  brass-bound  walls ;  and  in  that  cham- 
ber, secret  as  the  grave,  she  was  held  close  prisoner;  yet 
was  she  of  a  proud  lineage,  O  my  daughter,  and  charged 
with  the  keeping  of  the  seed  of  Zeus,  that  fell  in  the 
golden  rain. 

But  dreadful  is  the  mysterious  power  of  fate  ;  there  is 
no  deliverance  from  it  by  wealth  or  by  war,  by  fenced 
city,  or  dark,  sea-beaten  ships. 

And  bonds  tamed  the  son  of  Dryas,  swift  to  wrath, 
that  king  of  the  Edonians ;  so  paid  he  for  his  frenzied 
taunts,  when,  by  the  will  of  Dionysus,  he  was  pent  in  a 
rocky  prison.  There  the  fierce  exuberance  of  his  madness 
slowly  passed  away.  That  man  learned  to  know  the  god, 
whom  in  his  frenzy  he  had  provoked  with  mockeries ;  for 
he  had  sought  to  quell  the  god-possessed  women,  and  the 
Bacchanalian  fire ;  and  he  angered  the  Muses  that  love 
the  flute. 

And  by  the  waters  of  the  Dark  Rocks,  the  waters  of 
the  twofold  sea,  are  the  shores  of  Bosporus,  and  Thracian 
Salmydessus ;  where  Ares,  neighbour  to  the  city,  saw  the 
accursed,  blinding  wound  dealt  to  the  two  sons  of  Phineus 
by  his  fierce  wife — the  wound  that  brought  darkness  to 
those  vengeance-craving  orbs,  smitten  with  her  bloody 
hands,  smitten  with  her  shuttle  for  a  dagger. 

Pining  in  their  misery,  they  bewailed  their  cruel  doom, 
those  sons  of  a  mother  hapless  in  her  marriage  ;  but  she 
traced  her  descent  from  the  ancient  line  of  the  Erech- 
theidae ;  and  in  far-distant  caves  she  was  nursed  amid  her 
father's  storms,  that  child  of  Boreas,  swift  as  a  steed  over 
the  steep  hills,  a  daughter  of  gods ;  yet  upon  her  also  the 
gray  Fates  bore  hard,  my  daughter. 


'30 


SOPHOCLES 


Enter  TEIRESIAS,  led  by  a  boy,  on  the  spectators    right 

Te.  Princes  of  Thebes,  we  have  come  with  linked  steps, 
both  served  by  the  eyes  of  one ;  for  thus,  by  a  guide's 
help,  the  blind  must  walk. 

Cr.  And  what,  aged  Teiresias,  are  thy  tidings? 

Te.  1  will  tell  thee  ;  and  do  thou  hearken  to  the  seer. 

Cr.  Indeed,  it  has  not  been  my  wont  to  slight  thy 
counsel. 

Te.  Therefore  didst  thou  steer  our  city's  course  aright. 

Cr.  I  have  felt,  and  can  attest,  thy  benefits. 

Tc.  Mark  that  now,  once  more,  thou  standest  on  fate's 
fine  edge. 

Cr.  What  means  this?     How  I  shudder  at  thy  message! 

Te.  Thou  wilt  learn,  when  thou  hearest  the  warnings 
of  mine  art.  As  I  took  my  place  on  mine  old  seat  of 
augury,  where  all  birds  have  been  wont  to  gather  within 
my  ken,  I  heard  a  strange  voice  among  them  ;  they  were 
screaming  with  dire,  feverish  rage,  that  drowned  their 
language  in  a  jargon  ;  and  I  knew  that  they  were  rend- 
ing each  other  with  their  talons,  murderously  ;  the  whirr 
of  wings  told  no  doubtful  tale. 

Forthwith,  in  fear,  I  essayed  burnt-sacrifice  on  a  duly 
kindled  altar :  but  from  my  offerings  the  Fire-god  showed 
no  flame ;  a  dank  moisture,  oozing  from  the  thigh-flesh, 
trickled  forth  upon  the  embers,  and  smoked,  and  sput- 
tered ;  the  gall  was  scattered  to  the  air ;  and  the  stream- 
ing thighs  lay  bared  of  the  fat  that  had  been  wrapped 
round  them. 

Such  was  the  failure  of  the  rites  by  which  I  vainly 
asked  a  sign,  as  from  this  boy  I  learned  ;  for  he  is  my 
guide,  as  I  am  guide  to  others.  And  'tis  thy  counsel  that 
hath  brought  this  sickness  on  our  state.  For  the  altars  of 
our  city  and  of  our  hearths  have  been  tainted,  one  and 
all,  by  birds  and  dogs,  with  carrion  from  the  hapless 
corpse,  the  son  of  CEdipus :  and  therefore  the  gods  no 
more  accept  prayer  and  sacrifice  at  our  hands,  or  the 
flame  of  meat-offering;  nor  doth  any  bird  give  a  clear 


ANTIGONE  131 

sign  by  its  shrill  cry,  for  they  have  tasted  the  fatness  of 
a  slain  man's  blood. 

Think,  then,  on  these  things,  my  son.  All  men  are 
liable  to  err ;  but  when  an  error  hath  been  made,  that 
man  is  no  longer  witless  or  unblest  who  heals  the  ill  into 
which  he  hath  fallen,  and  remains  not  stubborn.  Self- 
will,  we  know,  incurs  the  charge  of  folly.  Nay,  allow 
the  claim  of  the  dead ;  stab  not  the  fallen  ;  what  prowess 
is  it  to  slay  the  slain  anew  ?  I  have  sought  thy  good,  and 
for  thy  good  I  speak :  and  never  is  it  sweeter  to  learn 
from  a  good  counsellor  than  when  he  counsels  for  thine 
own  gain. 

Cr.  Old  man,  ye  all  shoot  your  shafts  at  me,  as  archers 
at  the  butts ;  ye  must  needs  practise  on  me  with  seer-craft 
also;  ay,  the  seer-tribe  hath  long  trafficked  in  me,  and 
made  me  their  merchandise.  Gain  your  gains,  drive 
your  trade,  if  ye  list,  in  the  silver-gold  of  Sardis  and  the 
gold  of  India ;  but  ye  shall  not  hide  that  man  in  the 
grave — no,  though  the  eagles  of  Zeus  should  bear  the 
carrion  morsels  to  their  Master's  throne — no,  not  for 
dread  of  that  defilement  will  I  suffer  his  burial:  for  well 
I  know  that  no  mortal  can  defile  the  gods.  But,  aged 
Teiresias,  the  wisest  fall  with  a  shameful  fall,  when  they 
clothe  shameful  thoughts  in  fair  words,  for  lucre's  sake. 

Te.  Alas  !    Doth  any  man  know,  doth  any  consider.  .  . 

Cr.  Whereof  ?  What  general  truth  dost  thou  an- 
nounce ? 

Te.  How  precious,  above  all  wealth,  is  good  counsel. 

Cr.  As  folly,  I  think,  is  the  worst  mischief. 

Te.  Yet  thou  art  tainted  with  that  distemper. 

Cr.  I  would  not  answer  the  seer  with  a  taunt. 

Te.  But  thou  dost,  in  saying  that  I  prophesy  falsely. 

Cr.  Well,  the  prophet-tribe  was  ever  fond  of  money. 

Te.  And  the  race  bred  of  tyrants  loves  base  gain. 

Cr.  Knowest  thou  that  thy  speech  is  spoken  of  thy 
king? 

Te.  I  know  it;  for  through  me  thou  hast  saved  Thebes. 


132 


SOPHOCLES 


Cr.  Thou  art  a  wise  seer ;  but  them  lovest  evil  deeds. 

7>.  Thou  wilt  rouse  me  to  utter  the  dread  secret  in 
my  soul. 

Cr.  Out  with  it ! — Only  speak  it  not  for  gain. 

7>.  Indeed,  methinks,  I  shall  not — as  touching  thee. 

Cr.  Know  that  thou  shalt  not  trade  on  my  resolve. 

Te.  Then  know  thou — ay,  know  it  well — that  thou 
shalt  not  live  through  many  more  courses  of  the  sun's 
swift  chariot,  ere  one  begotten  of  thine  own  loins  shall 
have  been  given  by  thee,  a  corpse  for  corpses ;  because 
thou  hast  thrust  children  of  the  sunlight  to  the  shades, 
and  ruthlessly  lodged  a  living  soul  in  the  grave  ;  but 
keepest  in  this  world  one  who  belongs  to  the  gods  in- 
fernal, a  corpse  unburied,  unhonoured,  all  unhallowed. 
In  such  thou  hast  no  part,  nor  have  the  gods  above, 
but  this  is  a  violence  done  to  them  by  thee.  Therefore 
the  avenging  destroyers  lie  in  wait  for  thee,  the  Furies 
of  Hades  and  of  the  gods,  that  thou  mayest  be  taken  in 
these  same  ills. 

And  mark  well  if  I  speak  these  things  as  a  hireling. 
A  time  not  long  to  be  delayed  shall  awaken  the  wailing 
of  men  and  of  women  in  thy  house.  And  a  tumult  of 
hatred  against  thee  stirs  all  the  cities  whose  mangled 
sons  had  the  burial-rite  from  dogs,  or  from  wild  beasts, 
or  from  some  winged  bird  that  bore  a  polluting  breath 
to  each  city  that  contains  the  hearths  of  the  dead. 

Such  arrows  for  thy  heart — since  thou  provokest  me — 
have  I  launched  at  thee,  archer-like,  in  my  anger — sure 
arrows,  of  which  thou  shalt  not  escape  the  smart. — Boy, 
lead  me  home,  that  he  may  spend  his  rage  on  younger 
men,  and  learn  to  keep  a  tongue  more  temperate,  and  to 
bear  within  his  breast  a  better  mind  than  now  he  bears. 

[Exit  TKIKI-:SI.\S. 

Ch.  The  man  hath  gone,  O  King,  with  dread  prophe- 
cies. And,  since  the  hair  on  this  head,  once  dark,  hath 
been  white,  I  know  that  he  hath  never  been  a  false  prophet 
to  our  city. 


ANTIGONE  133 

Cr.  I,  too,  know  it  well,  and  am  troubled  in  soul.  Tis 
dire  to  yield  ;  but,  by  resistance,  to  smite  my  pride  with 
ruin — this,  too,  is  a  dire  choice. 

Ch.  Son  of  Menoeceus,  it  behooves  thee  to  take  wise 
counsel. 

Cr.  What  should  I  do,  then  ?     Speak,  and  I  will  obey. 

Ch.  Go  thou,  and  free  the  maiden  from  her  rocky 
chamber,  and  make  a  tomb  for  the  unburied  dead. 

Cr.  And  this  is  thy  counsel  ?  Thou  wouldst  have  me 
yield  ? 

Ch.  Yea,  King,  and  with  all  speed  ;  for  swift  harms 
from  the  gods  cut  short  the  folly  of  men. 

Cr.  Ah  me,  'tis  hard,  but  I  resign  my  cherished  resolve 
— I  obey.  We  must  not  wage  a  vain  war  with  destiny. 

Ch,  Go,  thou,  and  do  these  things  ;  leave  them  not  to 
others. 

Cr.  Even  as  I  am  I'll  go. — On,  on,  my  servants,  each 
and  all  of  you — take  axes  in  your  hands,  and  hasten  to 
the  ground  that  ye  see  yonder !  Since  our  judgment 
hath  taken  this  turn,  I  will  be  present  to  unloose  her,  as  I 
myself  bound  her.  My  heart  misgives  me,  'tis  best  to 
keep  the  established  laws,  even  to  life's  end. 

Ch.  O  thou  of  many  names,  glory  of  the  Cadmeian 
bride,  offspring  of  loud-thundering  Zeus !  thou  who 
watchest  over  famed  Italia,  and  reignest,  where  all  guests 
are  welcomed,  in  the  sheltered  plain  of  Eleusinian  Deo ! 
O  Bacchus,  dweller  in  Thebe,  mother-city  of  Bacchants, 
by  the  softly-gliding  stream  of  Ismenus,  on  the  soil 
where  the  fierce  dragon's  teeth  were  sown  ! 

Thou  hast  been  seen  where  torch-flames  glare  through 
smoke,  above  the  crests  of  the  twin  peaks,  where  move 
the  Corycian  nymphs,  thy  votaries,  hard  by  Castalia's 
stream. 

Thou  comest  from  the  ivy-mantled  slopes  of  Nysa's 
hills,  and  from  the  shore  green  with  many-clustered  vines, 
while  thy  name  is  lifted  up  on  strains  of  more  than  mor- 
tal power,  as  thou  visitest  the  ways  of  Thebe : 


134  SOPHOCLES 

Thebe,  of  all  cities,  thou  boldest  first  in  honour,  thou, 
and  thy  mother  whom  the  lightning  smote ;  and  now, 
when  all  our  people  is  captive  to  a  violent  plague,  come 
thou  with  healing  feet  over  ftie  Parnassian  height,  or  over 
the  moaning  strait ! 

O  thou  with  whom  the  stars  rejoice  as  they  move,  the 
stars  whose  breath  is  fire  ;  O  master  of  the  voices  of  the 
night;  son  begotten  of  Zeus;  appear,  O  king,  with  thine 
attendant  Thyiads,  who  in  night-long  frenzy  dance  before 
thee,  the  giver  of  good  gifts,  lacchus ! 

Enter  MESSENGER,  on  the  spectators    left 

Me.  Dwellers  by  the  house  of  Cadmus  and  of  Am- 
phion,  there  is  no  estate  of  mortal  life  that  I  would  ever 
praise  or  blame  as  settled.  Fortune  raises  and  Fortune 
humbles  the  lucky  or  unlucky  from  day  to  day,  and  no 
one  can  prophesy  to  men  concerning  those  things  which 
are  established.  For  Creon  was  blest  once,  as  I  count 
bliss  ;  he  had  saved  this  land  of  Cadmus  from  .its  foes ; 
he  was  clothed  with  sole  dominion  in  the  land  ;  he 
reigned,  the  glorious  sire  of  princely  children.  And 
now  all  hath  been  lost.  For  when  a  man  hath  forfeited 
his  pleasures,  I  count  him  not  as  living — I  hold  him  but  a 
breathing  corpse.  Heap  up  riches  in  thy  house,  if  thou 
wilt ;  live  in  kingly  state ;  yet,  if  there  be  no  gladness 
therewith,  I  would  not  give  the  shadow  of  a  vapour  for 
all  the  rest,  compared  with  joy. 

Ch.  And  what  is  this  new  grief  that  thou  hast  to  tell 
for  our  princes  ? 

Me.  Death  ;  and  the  living  are  guilty  for  the  dead. 

Ch.  And  who  is  the  slayer  ?  Who  the  stricken  ? 
Speak. 

Me.  Haemon  hath  perished  ;  his  blood  hath  been  shed 
by  no  stranger. 

Ch.  By  his  father's  hand,  or  by  his  own? 

Me.  By  his  own,  in  wrath  with  his  sire  for  the 
murder. 


ANTIGONE  135 

Ch.  O  prophet,  how  true,  then,  hast  thou  proved  thy 
word  ! 

Me.  These  things  stand  thus ;  ye  must  consider  of  the 
rest. 

Ch.  Lo,  I  see  the  hapless  Eurydice,  Creon's  wife,  ap- 
proaching ;  she  comes  from  the  house  by  chance,  haply — 
or  because  she  knows  the  tidings  of  her  son. 

Enter  EURYDICE 

Eu.  People  of  Thebes,  I  heard  your  words  as  I  was 
going  forth,  to  salute  the  goddess  Pallas  with  my  prayers. 
Even  as  I  was  loosing  the  fastenings  of  the  gate,  to  open 
it,  the  message  of  a  household  woe  smote  on  mine  ear :  I 
sank  back,  terror-stricken,  into  the  arms  of  my  handmaids, 
and  my  senses  fled.  But  say  again  what  the  tidings  were ; 
I  shall  hear  them  as  one  who  is  no  stranger  to  sorrow. 

Me.  Dear  lady,  I  will  witness  of  what  I  saw,  and  will 
leave  no  word  of  the  truth  untold.  Why,  indeed,  should 
I  soothe  thee  with  words  in  which  I  must  presently  be 
found  false  ?  Truth  is  ever  best. — I  attended  thy  lord  as 
his  guide  to  the  farthest  part  of  the  plain,  where  the  body 
of  Polyneices,  torn  by  dogs,  still  lay  unpitied.  We  prayed 
the  goddess  of  the  roads,  and  Pluto,  in  mercy  to  restrain 
their  wrath  ;  we  washed  the  dead  with  holy  washing ;  and 
with  freshly-plucked  boughs  we  solemnly  burned  such 
relics  as  there  were.  We  raised  a  high  mound  of  his  na- 
tive earth  ;  and  then  we  turned  away  to  enter  the  maid- 
en's nuptial  chamber  with  rocky  couch,  the  caverned 
mansion  of  the  bride  of  Death.  And,  from  afar  off,  one 
of  us  heard  a  voice  of  loud  wailing  at  that  bride's  unhal- 
lowed bower ;  and  came  to  tell  our  master  Creon. 

And  as  the  king  drew  nearer,  doubtful  sounds  of  a 
bitter  cry  floated  around  him  ;  he  groaned,  and  said  in 
accents  of  anguish  :  "  Wretched  that  I  am,  can  my  fore- 
boding be  true  ?  Am  I  going  on  the  wofullest  way  that 
ever  I  went  ?  My  son's  voice  greets  me. — Go,  my  serv- 
ants— haste  ye  nearer,  and  when  ye  have  reached  the 


136  SOPHOCLES 

tomb,  pass  through  the  gap,  where  the  stones  have  been 
wrenched  away,  to  the  cell's  very  mouth — and  look,  and 
see  if  'tis  Haemon's  voice  that  I  know,  or  if  mine  ear  is 
cheated  by  the  gods." 

This  search,  at  our  despairing  master's  word,  we  went 
to  make  ;  and  in  the  farthest  part  of  the  tomb  we  descried 
her  hanging  by  the  neck,  slung  by  a  thread-wrought  halter 
of  fine  linen;  while  he  was  embracing  her  with  arms 
thrown  around  her  waist — bewailing  the  loss  of  his  bride 
who  is  with  the  dead,  and  his  father's  deeds,  and  his  own 
ill-starred  love. 

But  his  father,  when  he  saw  him,  cried  aloud  with  a 
dread  cry,  and  went  in,  and  called  to  him  with  a  voice  of 
wailing :  "  Unhappy,  what  a  deed  hast  thou  done  !  What 
thought  hath  come  to  thee  ?  What  manner  of  mischance 
hath  marred  thy  reason  ?  Come  forth,  my  child  !  I  pray 
thee — I  implore  !  "  But  the  boy  glared  at  him  with  fierce 
eyes,  spat  in  his  face,  and,  without  a  word  of  answer,  drew 
his  cross-hiked  sword  :  as  his  father  rushed  forth  in  flight, 
he  missed  his  aim;  then,  hapless  one,  wroth  with  himself, 
he  straightway  leaned  with  all  his  weight  against  his 
sword,  and  drove  it,  half  its  length,  into  his  side ;  and 
while  sense  lingered,  he  clasped  the  maiden  to  his  faint 
embrace,  and,  as  he  gasped,  sent  forth  on  her  pale  cheek 
the  swift  stream  of  the  oozing  blood. 

Corpse  enfolding  corpse  he  lies ;  he  has  won  his  nup- 
tial rites,  poor  youth,  not  here,  yet  in  the  halls  of  Death  ; 
and  he  hath  witnessed  to  mankind  that,  of  all  curses  which 
leave  to  man,  ill  counsel  is  the  sovereign  curse. 

[EURYDlcfc  retires  into  the  house. 

Ch.  What  wouldst  thou  augur  from  this?  The  lady  hath 
turned  back,  and  is  gone,  without  a  word,  good  or  evil. 

Me.  I,  too,  am  startled ;  yet  I  nourish  the  hope  that, 
at  these  sore  tidings  of  her  son,  she  can  not  deign  to  give 
her  sorrow  public  vent,  but  in  the  privacy  of  the  house 
will  set  her  handmaids  to  mourn  the  household  grief.  For 
she  is  not  untaught  of  discretion,  that  she  should  err. 


ANTIGONE 


137 


Ch.  I  know  not ;  but  to  me,  at  least,  a  strained  silence 
seems  to  portend  peril,  no  less  than  vain  abundance  of 
lament. 

Me.  Well,  I  will  enter  the  house,  and  learn  whether 
indeed  she  is  not  hiding  some  repressed  purpose  in  the 
depths  of  a  passionate  heart.  Yea,  thou  sayest  well :  ex- 
cess of  silence,  too,  may  have  a  perilous  meaning. 

[Exit  MESSENGER. 

Enter  CREON,  on  the  spectators  left,  with  attendants, 
carrying  the  shrouded  body  of  H^EMON  on  a  bier 

Ch.  Lo,  yonder  the  king  himself  draws  near,  bearing 
that  which  tells  too  clear  a  tale — the  work  of  no  stranger's 
madness — if  we  may  say  it — but  of  his  own  misdeeds. 

Cr.  Woe  for  the  sins  of  a  darkened  soul,  stubborn  sins, 
fraught  with  death !  Ah,  ye  behold  us,  the  sire  who  hath 
slain,  the  son  who  hath  perished !  Woe  is  me,  for  the 
wretched  blindness  of  my  counsels  ! — Alas,  my  son,  thou 
hast  died  in  thy  youth,  by  a  timeless  doom,  woe  is  me ! — 
thy  spirit  hath  fled — not  by  thy  folly,  but  by  mine  own ! 

Ch.  Ah  me,  how  all  too  late  thou  seemest  to  see  the 
right ! 

Cr.  Ah  me,  I  have  learned  the  bitter  lesson  !  But  then, 
methinks,  oh  then,  some  god  smote  me  from  above  with 
crushing  weight,  and  hurled  me  into  ways  of  cruelty,  woe 
is  me — overthrowing  and  trampling  on  my  joy !  Woe, 
woe  for  the  troublous  toils  of  men  ! 

Enter  SECOND  MESSENGER  from  the  house 

Sec.  Me.  Sire,  thou  hast  come,  methinks,  as  one  whose 
hands  are  not  empty,  but  who  hath  store  laid  up  besides ; 
thou  bearest  yonder  burden  with  thee  ;  and  thou  art  soon 
to  look  upon  the  woes  within  thy  house. 

Cr.  And  what  worse  ill  is  yet  to  follow  upon  ills  ? 

Sec.  Me.  Thy  queen  hath  died,  true  mother  of  yon 
corpse — ah,  hapless  lady  ! — by  blows  newly  dealt. 

Cr.  O   Hades,  all-receiving,  whom    no    sacrifice    can 

6 


138  SOPHOCLES 

appease !  Hast  thou,  then,  no  mercy  for  me  ?  O  thou 
herald  of  evil,  bitter  tidings,  what  word  dost  thou  utter? 
Alas !  I  was  already  as  dead,  and  thou  hast  smitten  me 
anew !  What  sayest  thou,  my  son  ?  What  is  this  new 
message  that  thou  bringest — woe,  woe  is  me ! — of  a  wife's 
doom — of  slaughter  heaped  on  slaughter? 

Ch.  Thou  canst  behold  :  'tis  no  longer  hidden  within. 
\The  doors  of  the  palace  are  opened,  and  the 
corpse  of  EURYDICE  is  disclosed. 

Cr.  Ah  me — yonder  I  behold  a  new,  a  second  woe  ! 
What  destiny,  ah  what,  can  yet  await  me  ?  I  have  but 
now  raised  my  son  in  my  arms— and  there,  again,  I  see  a 
corpse  before  me !  Alas,  alas,  unhappy  mother !  Alas, 
my  child  ! 

Sec.  Me.  There,  at  the  altar,  self-stabbed  with  a  keen 
knife,  she  suffered  her  darkening  eyes  to  close,  when  she 
had  wailed  for  the  noble  fate  of  Megareus  who  died  be- 
fore, and  then  for  his  fate  who  lies  there — and  when,  with 
her  last  breath,  she  had  invoked  evil  fortunes  upon  thee, 
the  slayer  of  thy  sons. 

Cr.  Woe,  woe!  I  thrill  with  dread.  Is  there  none  to 
strike  me  to  the  heart  with  two-edged  sword  ?  Oh,  miser- 
able that  I  am,  and  steeped  in  miserable  anguish  ! 

Sec.  Me.  Yea,  both  this  son's  doom,  and  that  other's, 
were  laid  to  thy  charge  by  her  whose  corpse  thou  seest. 

Cr.  And  what  was  the  manner  of  the  violent  deed  by 
which  she  passed  away  ? 

Sec.  Me.  Her  own  hand  struck  her  to  the  heart,  when 
she  had  learned  her  son's  sorely  lamented  fate. 

Cr.  Ah  me,  this  guilt  can  never  be  fixed  on  any  other 
of  mortal  kind,  for  my  acquittal !  I,  even  I,  was  thy  slayer, 
wretched  that  I  am — I  own  the  truth. — Lead  me  away,  O 
my  servants,  lead  me  hence  with  all  speed,  whose  life  is 
but  as  death  ! 

Ch.  Thy  counsels  are  good,  if  there  can  be  good  with 
ills  ;  briefest  is  best,  when  trouble  is  in  our  path. 

Cr.  Oh,  let  it  come,  let  it  appear,  that  fairest  of  fates 


ANTIGONE 


139 


for  me,  that  brings  my  last  day — ay,  best  fate  of  all ! 
Oh,  let  it  come,  that  I  may  never  look  upon  to-morrow's 
light ! 

Ch.  These  things  are  in  the  future  ;  present  tasks  claim 
our  care :  the  ordering  of  the  future  rests  where  it  should 
rest. 

Cr.  All  my  desires,  at  least,  were  summed  in  that 
prayer. 

Ch.  Pray  thou  no  more ;  for  mortals  have  no  escape 
from  destined  woe. 

Cr.  Lead  me  away,  I  pray  you ;  a  rash,  foolish  man ; 
who  have  slain  thee,  ah  my  son,  unwittingly,  and  thee,  too, 
my  wife — unhappy  that  I  am  !  I  know  not  which  way  I 
should  bend  my  gaze,  or  where  I  should  seek  support ; 
for  all  is  amiss  with  that  which  is  in  my  hands — and  yon- 
der, again,  a  crushing  fate  hath  leapt  upon  my  head. 

\As  CREON  is  being  conducted  into  the  house, 
the   Coryph&us  speaks  the  closing  verses. 

Ch.  Wisdom  is  the  supreme  part  of  happiness ;  and 
reverence  toward  the  gods  must  be  inviolate.  Great 
words  of  prideful  men  are  ever  punished  with  great  blows, 
and,  in  old  age,  teach  the  chastened  to  be  wise. 


THE  CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS 
OF  SOPHOCLES 

TRANSLATED    BY 

THOMAS    FRANCKLIN 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


OEDIPUS,  King  of  Thebes. 

JOCASTA,  Wife  of  CEdipus. 

CREON,  Brother  of  Jocasta. 

TIRESIAS,  a  Blind  Prophet  of  Thebes. 

A  SHEPHERD,  from  Corinth. 

A  MESSENGER. 

AN  OLD  SHEPHERD,  formerly  belonging  to  Laius. 

HIGH  PRIEST  OF  JUPITER. 

CHORUS,  composed    of  the   Priests  and   Ancient 

Men  of  Thebes,  Theban  Youths,  Children  of 

CEdipus,  Attendants,  etc. 

SCENE  :  THEBES,  before  the  PALACE  OF  CEDIPUS. 


(EDIPUS    TYRANNUS 


CEDIPUS,  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  JUPITER 

OEDIPUS.      O     my     loved     sons!     the     youthful 
progeny 
Of  ancient  Cadmus,  wherefore  sit  you  here, 
And  suppliant  thus,  with  sacred  boughs  adorned, 
Crowd  to  our  altars  ?     Frequent  sacrifice 
And  prayers  and  sighs  and  sorrows  fill  the  land. 
I  could  have  sent  to  learn  the  fatal  cause  ; 
But  see,  your  anxious  sovereign  comes  himself 
To  know  it  all  from  you  ;  behold  your  king, 
Renowned  CEdipus  ;  do  thou,  old  man, 
For  best  that  office  suits  thy  years,  inform  me, 
Why  are  you  come  ;  is  it  the  present  ill 
That  calls  you  here,  or  dread  of  future  woe? 
Hard  were  indeed  the  heart  that  did  not  feel 
For  grief  like  yours,  and  pity  such  distress : 
If  there  be  aught  that  CEdipus  can  do 
To  serve  his  people,  know  me  for  your  friend. 

Priest.  O  king !  thou  seest  what  numbers  throng  thy 

altars ; 

Here,  bending  sad  beneath  the  weight  of  years, 
The  hoary  priests,  here  crowd  the  chosen  youth 
Of  Thebes,  with  these  a  weak  and  suppliant  train 
Of  helpless  infants,  last  in  me  behold 
The  minister  of  Jove  :  far  off  thou  seest 

145 


146  SOPHOCLES 

Assembled  multitudes,  with  laurel  crowned, 

To  where  Minerva's  hallowed  temples  rise 

Frequent  repair,  or  where  Ismenus  laves 

Apollo's  sacred  shrine :  too  well  thou  knowst 

Thy  wretched  Thebes,  with  dreadful  storms  oppressed, 

Scarce  lifts  her  head  above  the  whelming  flood  ; 

The  teeming  earth  her  blasted  harvest  mourns, 

And  on  the  barren  plain  the  flocks  and  herds 

Unnumbered  perish  ;  dire  abortion  thwarts 

The  mother's  hopes,  and  painful  she  brings  forth 

The  half-formed  infant ;  baleful  pestilence 

Hath  laid  our  city  waste,  the  fiery  god 

Stalks  o'er  deserted  Thebes  ;  while  with  our  groans 

Enriched,  the  gloomy  god  of  Erebus 

Triumphant  smiles.     O  GEdipus  !  to  thee 

We  bend  ;  behold  these  youths,  with  me  they  kneel, 

And  suppliant  at  thy  altars  sue  for  aid, 

To  thee  the  first  of  men,  and  only  less 

Than  them  whose  favour  thou  alone  canst  gain, 

The  gods  above  ;  thy  wisdom  yet  may  heal 

The  deep-felt  wounds,  and  make  the  powers  divine 

Propitious  to  us.     Thebes  long  since  to  thee 

Her  safety  owed,  when  from  the  Sphinx  delivered 

Thy  grateful  people  saw  thee,  not  by  man 

But  by  the  gods  instructed,  save  the  land  : 

Now  then,  thou  best  of  kings,  assist  us  now. 

( )h  !  by  some  mortal  or  immortal  aid 

Now  succour  the  distress !     On  wisdom  oft, 

And  prudent  counsels  in  the  hour  of  ill, 

Success  awaits.     ()  dearest  prince  !  support, 

Relieve  thy  Thebes;  on  thee,  its  saviour  once, 

A^ain  it  calls.     Now,  if  thou  wotildst  not  see 

The  mem'ry  perish  of  thy  former  deeds, 

Let  it  not  call  in  vain,  but  rise  and  save  ! 

With  happiest  omens  once  and  fair  success 

We  saw  thee  crowned  :  oh,  be  thyself  again, 

And  may  thy  will  and  fortune  be  the  same! 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS 

If  thou  art  yet  to  reign,  O  king!  remember 
A  sovereign's  riches  is  a  peopled  realm  ; 
For  what  will  ships  or  lofty  towers  avail 
Unarmed  with  men  to  guard  and  to  defend  them? 

Qidi.  O  my  unhappy  sons !  too  well  I  know 
Your  sad  estate.     I  know  the  woes  of  Thebes ; 
And  yet  among  you  lives  not  such  a  wretch 
As  CEdipus  ;  for  oh  !  on  me,  my  children, 
Your  sorrows  press.     Alas!  I  feel  for  you 
My  people,  for  myself,  for  Thebes,  for  all! 
Think  not  I  slept  regardless  of  your  ills ; 
Oh  no !  with  many  a  tear  I  wept  your  fate, 
And  oft  in  meditation  deep  revolved 
How  best  your  peace  and  safety  to  restore : 
The  only  medicine  that  my  thoughts  could  find 
I  have  administered  :  Menceceus*  son, 
The  noble  Creon,  went  by  my  command 
To  Delphos  from  Apollo's  shrine,  to  know 
What  must  be  done  to  save  this  wretched  land  : 
'Tis  time  he  were  returned  :  I  wonder  much 
At  his  delay.     If,  when  he  comes,  your  king 
Perform  not  all  the  god  enjoins,  then  say 
He  is  the  worst  of  men. 

Priest.  O  king  !  thy  words 

Are  gracious,  and  if  right  these  youths  inform  me, 
Creon  is  here. 

CEdL  O  Phoebus!  grant  he  come 

With  tidings  cheerful  as  the  smile  he  wears ! 

Priest,  He  is  the  messenger  of  good  ;  for  see, 
His  brows  are  crowned  with  laurel. 

(Edi.  We  shall  soon 

Be  satisfied  :  he  comes. 

CREON,  CEDIPUS,  PRIEST,  CHORUS 
CEdi.  My  dearest  Creon, 

Oh !  say,  what  answer  bear'st  thou  from  the  god  ; 
Or  good,  or  ill? 


147 


148  SOPHOCLES 

Crcon.  Good,  very  good  ;  for  know, 

The  worst  of  ills,  if  rightly  used,  may  prove 
The  means  of  happiness. 

(Edi.  What  says  my  friend  ? 

This  answer  gives  me  naught  to  hope  or  fear. 

Creon.  Shall  we  retire,  or  would  you  that  I  speak 
In  public  here  ? 

(Edi.  Before  them  all  declare  it ; 

Their  woes  sit  heavier  on  me  than  my  own. 

Crcon.  Then  mark  what  I  have  heard  :  the  god  com- 
mands 

That  instant  we  drive  forth  the  fatal  cause 
Of  this  dire  pestilence,  nor  nourish  here 
The  accursed  monster. 

(Edi.  Who  ?     What  monster  ?     How 

Remove  it? 

Creon.          Or  by  banishment,  or  death, 
Life  must  be  given  for  life  ;  for  yet  his  blood 
Rests  on  the  city. 

(Edi.  Whose  ?     What  means  the  god  ? 

Crcon.  O  king !  before  thee  Laius  ruled  o'er  Thebes. 

(Edi.  I  know  he  did,  though  I  did  ne'er  behold  him. 

Crcon.  Laius  was  slain,  and  on  his  murderers, 
So  Phoebus  says,  we  must  have  vengeance. 

(Edi.  Where, 

Where  are  the  murderers?     Who  shall  trace  the  guilt 
Buried  so  long  in  silence? 

Crcon.  Here,  he  said, 

E'en  in  this  land,  what's  sought  for  may  be  found, 
But  truth  unsearched  for  seldom  comes  to  light. 

U-'.di.  How  did  he  fall,  and  where? — at  home,  abroad? 
Died  he  at  Thebes,  or  in  a  foreign  land? 

Crcon.  He  left  his  palace,  fame  reports,  to  seek 
Some  oracle  ;  since  that,  we  ne'er  beheld  him. 

(Edi.  But  did  no  messenger  return  ?     Not  one 
Of  all  his  train,  of  whom  we  might  inquire 
Touching  this  murder? 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS  149 

Creon.  One,  and  one  alone, 

Came  back,  who,  flying,  'scaped  the  general  slaughter. 
But  nothing  save  one  little  circumstance 
Or  knew,  or  e'er  related. 

(Edi.  What  was  that  ? 

Much  may  be  learned  from  that.     A  little  dawn 
Of  light  appearing  may  discover  all. 

Creon.  Laius, 'attacked  by  robbers,  and  oppressed 
By  numbers,  fell.     Such  is  his  tale. 

(Edi.  Would  they — 

Would  robbers  do  so  desperate  a  deed, 
Unbribed  and  unassisted  ? 

Creon.  So,  indeed, 

Suspicion  whispered  then.     But — Laius  dead — 
No  friend  was  found  to  vindicate  the  wrong. 

(Edi.  But  what  strange  cause  could  stop  inquiry  thus 
Into  the  murder  of  a  king  ? 

Creon.  The  Sphinx. 

Her  dire  enigma  kept  our  thoughts  intent 
On  present  ills,  nor  gave  us  time  to  search 
The  past  mysterious  deed. 

(Edi.  Myself  will  try 

Soon  to  unveil  it.     Thou,  Apollo,  well, 
And  well  hast  thou,  my  Creon,  lent  thy  aid. 
Your  CEdipus  shall  now  perform  his  part. 
Yes,  1  will  fight  for  Phcebus  and  my  country. 
And  so  I  ought.     For  not  to  friends  alone, 
Or  kindred,  owe  I  this,  but  to  myself. 
Who  murdered  him,  perchance  would  murder  me! 
His  cause  is  mine.     Wherefore,  my  children,  rise ; 
Take  hence  your  suppliant  boughs,  and  summon  here 
The  race  of  Cadmus — my  assembled  people. 
Naught  shall  be  left  untried.     Apollo  leads, 
And  we  shall  rise  to  joy,  or  sink  forever. 

Priest.  Haste,  then,  my  sons,  for  this  we  hither  came : 
About  it  quick,  and  may  the  god  who  sent 
This  oracle,  protect,  defend,  and  save  us !  [Exeunt. 


150  SOPHOCLES 

CHORUS 

Strophe  I 

O  thou  great  oracle  divine  ! 
Who  didst  to  happy  Thebes  remove 

From  Delphi's  golden  shrine. 
And  in  sweet  sounds  declare  the  will  of  Jove. 

Daughter  of  hope,  oh  !  soothe  my  soul  to  rest, 

And  calm  the  rising  tumult  in  my  breast. 
Look  down,  O  Phoebus !  on  thy  loved  abode. 

Speak,  for  thou  knowst  the  dark  decrees  of  fate, 

Our  present  and  our  future  state. 
O  Delian!  be  thou  still  our  healing  god? 

Antistropke  i 

Minerva,  first  on  thee  I  call, 
Daughter  of  Jove,  immortal  maid, 

Low  beneath  thy  feet  we  fall : 
Oh  !  bring  thy  sister  Dian  to  our  aid. 

Goddess  of  Thebes,  from  thy  imperial  throne 

Look  with  an  eye  of  gentle  pity  down  ; 
And  thou,  far-shooting  Phoebus,  once  the  friend 

Of  this  unhappy,  this  devoted  land, 

Oh  !  now,  if  ever,  let  thy  hand 
Once  more  be  stretched  to  save  and  to  defend ! 

Strop/ic  2 

Great  Thebes,  my  sons,  is  now  no  more ; 
She  falls  and  ne'er  again  shall  rise, 

Naught  can  her  health  or  strength  restore, 
The  might)-  nation  sinks,  she  droops,  she  dies. 

Stripped  of  her  fruits,  behold  the  barren  earth — 

The  half-formed  infant  struggles  for  a  birth. 
The  mother  sinks  unequal  to  her  pain  : 

While  quick  as  birds  in  airy  circles  fly, 

Or  lightnings  from  an  angry  sky, 
Crowds  press  on  crowds  to  Pluto's  dark  domain. 


CEDITUS    TYRAXXUS  151 

Antistroplic  2 

Behold  what  heaps  of  wretches  slain, 

Unburied,  unlamented  lie, 

Nor  parents  now  nor  friends  remain 

To  grace  their  deaths  with  pious  obsequy. 
The  aged  matron  and  the  blooming  wife, 
Cling  to  the  altars — sue  for  added  life. 

With  sighs  and  groans  united  paeans  rise ; 
Re-echoed,  still  doth  great  Apollo's  name 
Their  sorrows  and  their  wants  proclaim. 

Frequent  to  him  ascends  the  sacrifice. 

Strophe  j 

Haste  then,  Minerva,  beauteous  maid, 
Descend  in  this  afflictive  hour, 

Haste  to  thy  dying  people's  aid, 
Drive  hence  this  baneful,  this  destructive  power! 

Who  comes  not  armed  with  hostile  sword  or  shield, 

Yet  strews  with  many  a  corse  th'  ensanguined  field ; 
To  Amphitrite's  wide-extending  bed 

Oh  !  drive  him,  goddess,  from  thy  favourite  land, 

Or  let  him,  by  thy  dread  command, 
Bury  in  Thracian  waves  his  ignominious  head. 

Antistrophc  j 

Father  of  all,  immortal  Jove ! 
Oh  !  now  thy  fiery  terrors  send  ; 

From  thy  dreadful  stores  above 
Let  lightnings  blast  him  and  let  thunders  rend  ! 

And  thou,  O  Lydian  king  !  thy  aid  impart ; 

Send  from  thy  golden  bow  th'  unerring  dart ; 
Smile,  chaste  Diana,  on  this  loved  abode, 

While  Theban  Bacchus  joins  the  maddening  throng, 

O  god  of  wine  and  mirth  and  song ! 
Now  with  thy  torch  destroy  the  base,  inglorious  god. 

[Exeunt. 


152  SOPHOCLES 

CEDIPUS,  CHORUS.      The  People  assembled 
(Edi.  Your  prayers  are  heard :  and  if  you  will  obey 
Your  king,  and  hearken  to  his  words,  you  soon 
Shall  find  relief ;  myself  will  heal  your  woes. 
I  was  a  stranger  to  the  dreadful  deed, 
A  stranger  e'en  to  the  report  till  now ; 
And  yet  without  some  traces  of  the  crime 
I  should  not  urge  this  matter ;  therefore  hear  me. 
I  speak  to  all  the  citizens  of  Thebes, 
Myself  a  citizen — observe  me  well : 
If  any  know  the  murderer  of  Laius, 
Let  him  reveal  it ;  I  command  you  all. 
But  if  restrained  by  dread  of  punishment 
He  hide  the  secret,  let  him  fear  no  more ; 
For  naught  but  exile  shall  attend  the  crime 
Whene'er  confessed  ;  if  by  a  foreign  hand 
The  horrid  deed  was  done,  who  points  him  out 
Commands  our  thanks,  and  meets  a  sure  reward ; 
But  if  there  be  who  knows  the  murderer, 
And  yet  conceals  him  from  us,  mark  his  fate, 
Which  here  I  do  pronounce  :  Let  none  receive 
Throughout  my  kingdom,  none  hold  converse  with  him, 
Nor  offer  prayer,  nor  sprinkle  o'er  his  head 
The  sacred  cup  ;  let  him  be  driven  from  all, 
By  all  abandoned,  and  by  all  accursed, 
For  so  the  Delphic  oracle  declared  ; 
And  therefore  to  the  gods  I  pay  this  duty 
And  to  the  dead.     Oh  !  may  the  guilty  wretch, 
Whether  alone,  or  by  his  impious  friends 
Assisted,  he  performed  the  horrid  deed, 
Denied  the  common  benefits  of  Nature, 
Wear  out  a  painful  life  !     And  oh  !  if  here, 
Within  my  palace,  I  conceal  the  traitor, 
On  me  and  mine  alight  the  vengeful  curse! 
To  you,  my  people,  I  commit  the  care 
Of  this  important  business ;  'tis  my  cause, 
The  cause  of  Heaven,  and  your  expiring  country. 


OEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  153 

E'en  if  the  god  had  naught  declared,  to  leave 

This  crime  unexpiated  were  most  ungrateful. 

He  was  the  best  of  kings,  the  best  of  men ; 

That  sceptre  now  is  mine  which  Laius  bore ; 

His  wife  is  mine ;  so  would  his  children  be 

Did  any  live  ;  and  therefore  am  I  bound, 

E'en  as  he  were  my  father,  to  revenge  him. 

Yes,  1  will  try  to  find  this  murderer, 

I  owe  it  to  the  son  of  Labdacus, 

To  Polydorus,  Cadmus,  and  the  race 

Of  great  Agenor.     Oh  !  if  yet  there  are, 

Who  will  not  join  me  in  the  pious  deed, 

From  such  may  earth  withhold  her  annual  store, 

And  barren  be  their  bed,  their  life  most  wretched, 

And  their  death  cruel  as  the  pestilence 

That  wastes  our  city  !     But  on  you,  my  Thebans, 

Who  wish  us  fair  success,  may  justice  smile 

Propitious,  and  the  gods  forever  bless ! 

Chor.  O  king  !  t)iy  imprecations  unappalled 
I  hear,  and  join  thee,  guiltless  of  the  crime, 
Nor  knowing  who  committed  it.     The  god 
Alone,  who  gave  the  oracle,  must  clear 
Its  doubtful  sense,  and  point  out  the  offender. 

(Edi.  'Tis  true.    But  who  shall  force  the  powers  divine 
To  speak  their  hidden  purpose  ? 

Chor.  One  thing  more, 

If  I  might  speak. 

(Edi.  Say  on,  whate'er  thy  mind 

Shall  dictate  to  thee. 

Chor.  As  among  the  gods 

All-knowing  Phoebus,  so  to  mortal  men 
Doth  sage  Tiresias  in  foreknowledge  sure 
Shine  foVth  pre-eminent.     Perchance  his  aid 
Might  much  avail  us. 

(Edi.  Creon  did  suggest 

The  same  expedient,  and  by  his  advice 
Twice  have  I  sent  for  this  Tiresias ;  much 


154  SOPHOCLES 

I  wonder  that  he  comes  not. 

Chor.  'Tis  most  fitting 

We  do  consult  him  ;  for  the  idle  tales 
Which  rumour  spreads  are  not  to  be  regarded. 

(Edi.  What   are    those  tales?   for  naught  should   we 
despise. 

Chor.  Tis  said  some  travellers  did  attack  the  king. 

(Edi.  It  is  ;  but  still  no  proof  appears. 

Chor.  And  yet, 

If  it  be  so,  thy  dreadful  execration 
Will  lorce  the  guilty  to  confess. 

(Edi.  Oh  no ! 

Who  fears  not  to  commit  the  crime  will  ne'er 
Be  frightened  at  the  curse  that  follows  it. 

Chor.  Behold  he  comes,  who  will  discover  all, 
The  holy  prophet.     See!  they  lead  him  hither; 
He  knows  the  truth  and  will  reveal  it  to  us. 

TIRESIAS,  CEDIPUS,  CHORUS 
(Edi.  O  sage  Tiresias,  thou  who  knowest  all 
That  can  be  known,  the  things  of  heaven  above 
And  earth  below,  whose  mental  eye  beholds, 
Blind  as  thou  art,  the  state  of  dying  Thebes, 
And  weeps  her  fate,  to  thee  we  look  for  aid, 
On  thee  alone  for  safety  we  depend. 
This  answer,  which  perchance  thou  hast  not  heard, 
Apollo  gave :  the  plague,  he  said,  should  cease 
When  those  who  murdered  Laius  were  discovered 
And  paid  the  forfeit  of  their  crime  by  death 
Or  banishment.     Oh  !  do  not  then  conceal 
Aught  that  thy  art  prophetic  from  the  flight 
Of  birds  or  other  omens  may  disclose. 
Oh !  save  thyself,  save  this  afflicted  city, 
Save  (Kdipus  avenge  the  guiltless  dead 
1  mm  tin's  pollution!     Thou  art  all  our  hope; 
Remember,  'tis  the  privilege  of  man, 
I  I  i  •  noble-si  function,  to  assist  the  wretched. 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS  155 

Tir.  Alas !  what  miser)'  it  is  to  know 
When  knowledge  is  thus  fatal !     O  Tiresias  ! 
Thou  art  undone  !     Would  I  had  never  come  ! 

(Edi.  What  sayst  thou  ?     Whence  this  strange  dejec- 
tion ?     Speak. 

Tir.  Let  me  be  gone ;  'twere  better  for  us  both 
That  I  retire  in  silence :  be  advised. 

(Edi.  It  is  ingratitude  to  Thebes,  who  bore 
And  cherished  thee— it  is  unjust  to  all, 
To  hide  the  will  of  Heaven. 

Tir.  'Tis  rash  in  thee 

To  ask,  and  rash  I  fear  will  prove  my  answer. 

Chor.  Oh !  do  not,  by  the  gods,  conceal  it  from  us, 
Suppliant  we  all  request,  we  all  conjure  thee. 

Tir.  You  know  not  what  you  ask ;  I'll  not  unveil 
Your  miseries  to  you. 

(Edi.  Knowst  thou  then  our  fate, 

And  wilt  not  tell  it  ?     Meanst  thou  to  betray 
Thy  country  and  thy  king? 

Tir.  I  would  not  make 

Myself  and  thee  unhappy ;  why  thus  blame 
My  tender  care,  nor  listen  to  my  caution  ? 

(Edi.  Wretch  as  thou  art,  thou  wouldst   provoke   a 

stone — 

Inflexible  and  cruel — still  implored 
And  still  refusing. 

Tir.  Thou  condemn'st  my  warmth, 

Forgetful  of  thy  own. 

(Edi.  Who  would  not  rage 

To  see  an  injured  people  treated  thus 
With  vile  contempt  ? 

Tir.  What  is  decreed  by  Heaven 

Must  come  to  pass,  though  I  reveal  it  not, 

(Edi.  Still,  'tis  thy  duty  to  inform  us  of  it. 

Tir.  I'll  speak  no  more,  not  though  thine  anger  swell 
E'en  to  its  utmost. 

(Edi.  Nor  will  I  be  silent. 


156  SOPHOCLES 

I  tell  thee  once  for  all  thou  wert  thyself 
Accomplice  in  this  deed.     Nav,  more,  1  think, 
But  for  thy  blindness,  wouldst  with  thy  own  hand 
Have  done  it  too. 

Tir.  'Tis  well.     Now  hear  Tiresias. 

The  sentence,  which  thou  didst  thyself  proclaim, 
Falls  on  thyself.     Henceforth  shall  never  man 
Hold  converse  with  thee,  for  thou  art  accursed — 
The  guilty  cause  of  all  this  city's  woes. 

CEdi.  Audacious  traitor  !  thinkst  thou  to  escape 
The  hand  of  vengeance  ? 

Tir.  Yes,  I  fear  thee  not ; 

For  truth  is  stronger  than  a  tyrant's  arm. 

CEdi.  Whence   didst   thou  learn  this  ?     Was  it  from 
thy  art  ? 

Tir.  I  learned  it  from  thyself.     Thou  didst  compel  me 
To  speak,  unwilling  as  I  was. 

CEdi.  Once  more 

Repeat  it  then,  that  I  may  know  my  fate 
More  plainly  still. 

Tir.  Is  it  not  plain  already  ? 

Or  meanst  thou  but  to  tempt  me  ? 

CEdi.  No,  but  say, 

Speak  it  again. 

Tir.  Again  then  I  declare 

Thou  art  thyself  the  murderer  whom  thou  seekst. 

CEdi.  A  second  time  thou  shall  not  pass  unpunished. 

Tir.  What  wouldst  thou  say,  if  I  should  tell  thee  all? 

CEdi.  Say  what  thou  wilt.     For  all  is  false. 

Tir.  Know  then, 

That  CEdipus,  in  shameful  bonds  united 
With  those  he  loves,  unconscious  of  his  guilt, 
Is  yet  most  guilty. 

CEdi.  Dar'st  thou  utter  more, 

And  hope  for  pardon  ? 

Tir.  Yes,  if  there  be  strength 

In  sacred  truth. 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  157 

(Edi.  But  truth  dwells  not  in  thee  : 

Thy  body  and  thy  mind  are  dark  alike, 
For  both  are  blind.     Thy  ev'ry  sense  is  lost. 

Tir.  Thou  dost  upbraid  me  with  the  loss  of  that 
For  which  thyself  ere  long  shall  meet  reproach 
From  every  tongue. 

(Edi.  Thou  blind  and  impious  traitor  ! 

Thy  darkness  is  thy  safeguard,  or  this  hour 
Had  been  thy  last. 

Tir.  It  is  not  in  my  fate 

To  fall  by  thee.     Apollo  guards  his  priest. 

(Edi.  Was  this  the  tale  of  Creon,  or  thy  own? 

Tir.  Creon  is  guiltless,  and  the  crime  is  thine. 

(Edi.  O  riches,  power,  dominion !  and  thou  far 
Above  them  all,  the  best  of  human  blessings, 
Excelling  wisdom,  how  doth  envy  love 
To  follow  and  oppress  you !     This  fair  kingdom, 
Which  by  the  nation's  choice,  and  not  my  own, 
I  here  possess,  Creon,  my  faithful  friend, 
For  such  I  thought  him  once,  would  now  wrest  from  me, 
And  hath  suborned  this  vile  impostor  here, 
This  wandering  hypocrite,  of  sharpest  sight 
When  interest  prompts,  but  ignorant  and  blind 
When  fools  consult  him.     Tell  me,  prophet,  where 
Was  all  thy  art  when  the  abhorred  Sphinx 
Alarmed  our  city  ?     Wherefore  did  not  then 
Thy  wisdom  save  us?    Then  the  man  divine 
Was  wanting.     But  thy  birds  refused  their  omens, 
Thy  god  was  silent.     Then  came  CEdipus, 
This  poor,  unlearned,  uninstructed  sage  ; 
Who  not  from  birds  uncertain  omens  drew, 
But  by  his  own  sagacious  mind  explored 
The  hidden  mystery.     And  now  thou  com'st 
To  cast  me  from  the  throne  my  wisdom  gained, 
And  share  with  Creon  my  divided  empire. 
But  you  should  both  lament  your  ill-got  power, 
You  and  your  bold  compeer,    For  thee,  this  moment, 


158  SOPHOCLES 

But  that  I  bear  respect  unto  thy  age, 
I'd  make  thee  rue  thy  execrable  purpose. 

Chor.  You  both  are  angry,  therefore  both  to  blame ; 
Much  rather  should  you  join,  with  friendly  zeal 
And  mutual  ardour,  to  explore  the  will 
Of  all-deciding  Heaven. 

Tir.  What  though  thou  rul'st 

O'er  Thebes  despotic,  we  are  equal  here : 
I  am  Apollo's  subject,  and  not  thine, 
Nor  want  I  Creon  to  protect  me.     No ; 
I  tell  thee,  king,  this  blind  Tiresias  tells  thee, 
Seeing  thou  seest  not,  knowst  not  where  thou  art, 
What,  or  with  whom.     Canst  thou  inform  me  who 
Thy  parents  are,  and  what  thy  horrid  crimes 
'Gainst  thy  own  race,  the  living  and  the  dead  ? 
A  father's  and  a  mother's  curse  attend  thee ; 
Soon  shall  their  furies  drive  thee  from  the  land, 
And  leave  thee  dark  like  me.     What  mountain  then, 
Or  conscious  shore,  shall  not  return  the  groans 
Of  CEdipus,  and  echo  to  his  woes  ? 
When  thou  shalt  look  on  the  detested  bed, 
And  in  that  haven  where  thou  hop'st  to  rest, 
Shalt  meet  with  storm  and  tempest,  then  what  ills 
Shall  fall  on  thee  and  thine  !     Now  vent  thy  rage 
On  old  Tiresias  and  the  guiltless  Creon ; 
We  shall  be  soon  avenged,  for  ne'er  did  Heaven 
Cut  off  a  wretch  so  base,  so  vile  as  thou  art. 

(Edi.  Must  I  bear  this  from  thee  ?     Away,  begone  ! 
Home,  villain,  home  ! 

Tir.  I  did  not  come  to  thee 

Unsent  for. 

(Edi.  Had  I  thought  thou  wouldst  have  thus 
Insulted  me,  I  had  not  called  thee  hither. 

Tir.  Perhaps  thou  holdst  Tiresias  as  a  fool 
And  madman;  but  thy  parents  thought  me  wise. 

(I-:,li.   My  parents,  saidst  thou  ?     Speak,  who  were  my 

parents  ? 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  159 

Tir.  This   day,   that   gives   thee  life,  shall   give    thee 
death. 

(Edi.  Still  dark,   and  still  perplexing  are  the  words 
thou  utter'st. 

Tir.  Tis  thy  business  to  unriddle, 
And  therefore  thou  canst  best  interpret  them. 

(Edi.  Thou  dost  reproach  me  for  my  virtues. 

Tir.  They, 

And  thy  good  fortune,  have  undone  thee. 

(Edi.  Since 

I  saved  the  city,  I'm  content. 

Tir.  Farewell. — 

Boy,  lead  me  hence. 

(Edi.  Away  with  him,  for  here 
His  presence  but  disturbs  us  ;  being  gone, 
We  shall  be  happier. 

Tir.  CEdipus,  I  go, 

But  first  inform  me,  for  I  fear  thee  not, 
Wherefore  I  came.     Know,  then,  I  came  to  tell  thee, 
The  man  thou  seekst,  the  man  on  whom  thou  pouredst 
Thy  execrations,  e'en  the  murderer 
Of  Laius,  now  is  here — a  seeming  stranger 
And  yet  a  Theban.     He  shall  suffer  soon 
For  all  his  crimes  :  from  light  and  affluence  driven 
To  penury  and  darkness,  poor  and  blind, 
Propped  on  his  staff,  and  from  his  native  land 
Expelled,  I  see  him  in  a  foreign  clime 
A  helpless  wanderer ;  to  his  sons  at  once 
A  father  and  a  brother;  child  and  husband 
Of  her  from  whom  he  sprang.     Adulterous, 
Incestuous  parricide,  now  fare  thee  well  ! 
Go,  learn  the  truth,  and  if  it  be  not  so, 
Say  I  have  ne'er  deserved  the  name  of  prophet. 


l6o  SOPHOCLES 

CHORUS 
Strophe  I 

When  will  the  guilty  wretch  appear, 
Whom  Delphi's  sacred  oracle  demands  ; 

Author  of  crimes  too  black  for  mortal  ear, 
Dipping-  in  royal  blood  his  sacrilegious  hands? 
Swift  as  the  storm  by  rapid  whirlwinds  driven  ; 
Quick  let  him  fly  th'  impending  wrath  of  Heaven  ; 
For  lo  !  the  angry  son  of  Jove, 
Armed  with  red  lightnings  from  above, 
Pursues  the  murderer  with  immortal  hate, 
And  round  him  spreads  the  snares  of  unrelenting  fate. 

Anlistrophc  I 

From  steep  Parnassus'  rocky  cave, 
Covered  with  snow,  came  forth  the  dread  command  ; 

Apollo  thence  his  sacred  mandate  gave, 
To  search  the  man  of  blood  through  every  land  : 
Silent  and  sad,  the  weary  wanderer  roves 
O'er  pathless  rocks  and  solitary  groves, 

Hoping  to  'scape  the  wrath  divine, 

Denounced  from  great  Apollo's  shrine ; 
Vain  hopes  to  'scape  the  fate  by  Heaven  decreed, 
For  vengeance  hovers  still  o'er  his  devoted  head. 

Strophe  2 

Tiresias,  famed  for  wisdom's  lore, 
Hath  dreadful  ills  to  CEdipus  divined  ; 

And  as  his  words  mysterious  I  explore, 
Unnumbered  doubts  perplex  my  anxious  mind. 
Now  raised  by  hope,  and  now  with  fears  oppressed, 
Sorrow  and  joy  alternate  fill  my  breast : 

1  ln\v  should  these  hapless  kings  be  foes, 

When  never  strife  between  them  rose? 
Or  why  ^Imuld  L:iius,  slain  by  hands  unknown, 
Bring  foul  disgrace  on  Polybus'  unhappy  son? 


CEDIPUS   TYRAXNUS  l6l 

Antistrophe  2 

From  Phoebus  and  all-seeing  Jove 
Naught  can  be  hid  of  actions  here  below  ; 

But  earthly  prophets  may  deceitful  prove, 
And  little  more  than  other  mortals  know  : 
Though  much  in  wisdom  man  doth  man  excel, 
In  all  that's  human  error  still  must  dwell : 
Could  he  commit  the  bloody  deed, 
Who  from  the  Sphinx  our  city  freed  ? 
Oh,  no  !  he  never  shed  the  guiltless  blood  ; 
The  Sphinx  declares  him  wise,  and  innocent,  and  good. 

[Exeunt. 

CREON,  CHORUS 

Creon.  O  citizens !  with  grief  I  hear  your  king 
Hath  blasted  the  fair  fame  of  guiltless  Creon ! 
And  most  unjustly  brands  me  with  a  crime 
My  soul  abhors :  while  desolation  spreads 
On  every  side,  and  universal  ruin 
Hangs  o'er  the  land,  if  I  in  word  or  deed 
Could  join  to  swell  the  woes  of  hapless  Thebes, 
I  were  unworthy — nay,  I  would  not  wish- 
To  live  another  day  :  alas  !  my  friends, 
Thus  to  be  deemed  a  traitor  to  my  country, 
To  you  my  fellow-citizens,  to  all 
That  hear  me,  'tis  infamy  and  shame ; 
I  can  not,  will  not  bear  it. 

Chor.  Twas  th'  effect 

Of  sudden  anger  only — what  he  said 
But  could  not  think. 

Creon.  Who  told  him  I  suborned 

The  prophet  to  speak  falsely  ?     What  could  raise 
This  vile  suspicion  ? 

Chor.  Such  he  had,  but  whence 

I  know  not. 

Creon.         Talked  he  thus  with  firm  composure 
And  confidence  of  mind  ? 


1 62  SOPHOCLES 

CJior.  I  can  not  say  ; 

'Tis  not  for  me  to  know  the  thoughts  of  kings, 
Or  judge  their  actions  !     But  behold  !  he  comes. 

OEDIPUS,  CREON,  CHORUS 

CEdi.  Ha !    Creon   here  ?     And   dar'st    thou   thus   ap- 
proach 

My  palace,  thou  who  wouldst  have  murdered  me, 
And  ta'en  my  kingdom  ?     By  the  gods  I  ask  thee  ; 
Answer  me,  traitor,  didst  thou  think  me  fool, 
Or  coward,  that  I  could  not  see  thy  arts, 
Or  had  not  strength  to  vanquish  them?     What  madness, 
What  strange  infatuation  led  thee  on, 
Without  or  force  or  friends,  to  grasp  at  empire 
Which  only  their  united  force  can  give? 
What  wert  thou  doing  ? 

Creon.  Hear  what  I  shall  answer, 

Then  judge  impartial. 

CEdL  Thou  canst  talk  it  well, 

But  I  shall  ne'er  attend  to  thee ;  thy  guilt 
Is  plain  ;  thou  art  my  deadliest  foe. 

Creon.  But  hear 

What  I  shall  urge. 

(J-ldi.  Say  not  thou  art  innocent. 

Creon.  If  self-opinion  void  of  reason  seem 
Conviction  to  thee,  know,  thou  err'st  most  grossly. 

CEdi.  And  thou  more  grossly,  if  thou  thinkst  to  pass 
Unpunished  for  this  injury  to  thy  friend. 

Creon.  I  should  not,  were  I  guilty  ;  but  what  crime 
I  lave  I  committed?     Tell  me. 

(l-'.di.  Wert  not  thou 

The  man  who  urged  me  to  require  the  aid 
Of  your  all-knowing  prophet? 

Creon.  True,  I  was  ; 

I  did  persuade  you  ;  so  I  would  again. 

(I''.(/i.  I  lu\v  long  is  it  since  Laius — 

Cr<  Laius!     What? 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS 

CEdi.  Since  Laius  fell  by  hands  unknown? 

Creon. 
Long  tract  of  years. 

CEdi.  Was  this  Tiresias  then 

A  prophet  ? 

Creon.         Ay  ;  in  wisdom  and  in  fame 
As  now  excelling. 

(Edi.  Did  he  then  say  aught 

Concerning  me  ? 

Creon.  I  never  heard  he  did. 

CEdi.  Touching  this  murder,  did  you  ne'er  inquire 
Who  were  the  authors  ? 

Creon.  Doubtless  ;  but  in  vain. 

CEdi.  Why  did  not  this  same  prophet  then  inform  you? 

Creon.  I  know  not  that,  and  when  I'm  ignorant 
I'm  always  silent. 

CEdi.  What  concerns  thyself 

At  least  thou  knowst,  and  therefore  shouldst  declare  it. 

Creon.  What  is  it  ?     Speak  ;  and  if  'tis  in  my  power, 
I'll  answer  thee. 

CEdi.  Thou  knowst,  if  this  Tiresias 

Had  not  combined  with  thee,  he  would  not  thus 
Accuse  me  as  the  murderer  of  Laius. 

Creon.  What  he  declares,  thou  best  canst  tell :  of  me, 
What  thou  requirest,  myself  am  yet  to  learn. 

CEdi.  Go,  learn  it  then  ;  but  ne'er  shalt  thou  discover 
That  CEdipus  is  guilty. 

Creon.  Art  not  thou 

My  sister's  husband  ? 

CEdi.  Granted. 

Creon.  Joined  with  her, 

Thou  rul'st  o'er  Thebes. 

CEdi.  'Tis  true,  and  all  she  asks 

Most  freely  do  I  give  her. 

Creon.  Is  not  Creon 

In  honour  next  to  you  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  art ;  and  therefore 


164  SOPHOCLES 

The  more  ungrateful. 

Creon.  Hear  what  I  shall  plead, 

And  thou  wilt  never  think  so.     Tell  me,  prince, 
Is  there  a  man  who  would  prefer  a  throne, 
With  all  its  dangers,  to  an  equal  rank 
In  peace  and  safety  ?     I  am  not  of  those 
Who  choose  the  name  of  king  before  the  power; 
Fools  only  make  such  wishes :  I  have  all 
From  thee,  and  fearless  I  enjoy  it  all : 
Had  I  the  sceptre,  often  must  I  act 
Against  my  will.     Know  then,  I  am  not  yet 
So  void  of  sense  and  reason  as  to  quit 
A  real  'vantage  for  a  seeming  good. 
Am  I  not  happy,  am  I  not  revered, 
Embraced,  and  loved  by  all  ?     To  me  they  come 
Who  want  thy  favour,  and  by  me  acquire  it : 
What  then  should  Creon  wish  for ;  shall  he  leave 
All  this  for  empire  ?     Bad  desires  corrupt 
The  fairest  mind.     I  never  entertained 
A  thought  so  vile,  nor  would  1  lend  my  aid 
To  forward  such  base  purposes.     But  go 
To  Delphi,  ask  the  sacred  oracle 
If  I  have  spoke  the  truth  ;  if  there  you  find 
That  with  the  prophet  I  conspired,  destroy 
The  guilty  Creon  ;  not  thy  voice  alone 
Shall  then  condemn  me,  for  myself  will  join 
In  the  just  sentence.     But  accuse  me  not 
On  weak  suspicion's  most  uncertain  test. 
Justice  would  never  call  the  wicked  good, 
Or  brand  fair  virtue  with  the  name  of  vice, 
Unmerited  :  to  cast  away  a  friend, 
Faithful  and  just,  is  to  deprive  ourselves 
Of  life  and  being,  which  we  hold  most  dear: 
But  time  and  time  alone  revealeth  all ; 
That  only  shows  the  good  man's  excellence: 
A  day  sufficeth  to  unmask  the  wicked. 

C/ior.  O  king  !  his  caution  merits  your  regard  ; 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  165 

Who  judge  in  haste  do  seldom  judge  aright. 

CEdi.  When  they  are  quick  who  plot  against  my  life, 
Tis  fit  I  should  be  quick  in  my  defence ; 
If  I  am  tame  and  silent,  all  they  wish 
Will  soon  be  done,  and  QEdipus  must  fall. 

Creon.  What  wouldst  thou  have  ?  my  banishment  ? 

CEdi.  Thy  death. 

Creon.  But  first  inform  me  wherefore  I  should  die. 

CEdi.  Dost  thou  rebel  then  ?     Wilt  thou  not  submit  ? 

Creon.  Not  when  I  see  thee  thus  deceived. 

CEdi.  'Tis  fit 

I  should  defend  my  own. 

Creon.  And  so  should  I. 

CEdi.  Thou  art  a  traitor. 

Creon.  What  if  it  should  prove 

I  am  not  so  ? 

CEdi.  A  king  must  be  obeyed. 

Creon.  Not  if  his  orders  are  unjust. 

CEdi.  O  Thebes ! 

O  citizens ! 

Creon.        I  too  can  call  on  Thebes ; 
She  is  my  country. 

Ckor.  Oh  !  no  more,  my  lords ; 

For  see,  Jocasta  comes  in  happiest  hour 
To  end  your  contest. 

JOCASTA,  CREON,  CEDIPUS,  CHORUS 

Joe.  Whence  this  sudden  tumult? 

O  princes !  Is  this  well,  at  such  a  time 
With  idle  broils  to  multiply  the  woes 
Of  wretched  Thebes?     Home,  home,  for  shame  !  nor  thus 
With  private  quarrels  swell  the  public  ruin. 

Creon.  Sister,  thy  husband  hath  most  basely  used  me; 
He  threatens  me  with  banishment  or  death. 

CEdi.  I  do  confess  it ;  for  he  did  conspire 
With  vile  and  wicked  arts  against  my  life. 

Creon.  Oh  !  may  I  never  prosper,  but  accursed, 


1 66  SOPHOCLES 

Unpitied,  perish  if  I  ever  did. 

Joe.  Believe  him,  CEdipus ;  revere  the  gods 
Whom  he  contests,  if  thou  dost  love  Jocasta ; 
Thy  subjects  beg  it  of  thee. 

Chor.  Hear,  O  king  ! 

Consider,  we  entreat  thee. 

CEdi.  What  wouldst  have? 

Think  you  I'll  e'er  submit  to  him  ? 

Chor.  Revere 

His  character,  his  oath,  both  pleading  for  him. 

(Edi.  But  know  you  what  you  ask? 

Chor.  We  do. 

CEdi.  What  is  it? 

Chor.  We  ask  thee  to  believe  a  guiltless  friend, 
Nor  cast  him  forth  dishonoured  thus,  on  slight 
Suspicion's  weak  surmise. 

CEdi.  Requesting  this, 

You  do  request  my  banishment,  or  death. 

Chor.  No ;  by  yon  leader  of  the  heavenly  host, 
Th'  immortal  sun,  I  had  not  such  a  thought ; 
I  only  felt  for  Thebes'  distressful  state, 
And  would  not  have  it  by  domestic  strife 
Embittered  thus. 

CEdi.  Why,  let  him  then  depart: 

If  CEdipus  must  die,  or  leave  his  country 
For  shameful  exile,  be  it  so ;  I  yield 
To  thy  request,  not  his ;  for  hateful  still 
Shall  Creon  ever  be. 

Creon.  Thy  stubborn  soul 

Bends  with  reluctance,  and  when  anger  fires  it 
Is  terrible ;  but  natures  formed  like  thine 
Are  their  own  punishment. 

CEdi.  Wilt  thou  not  hence  ? 

Wilt  not  begone  ? 

Creon.  I  go  ;  thou  knowest  me  not ; 

But  these  will  do  me  justice.  [Exit  CREON. 


(EDIPUS  TYRANNUS  167 

JOCASTA,  CEDIPUS,  CHORUS 

Chor.  Princess,  now 

Persuade  him  to  retire. 

Joe.  First,  let  me  know 

The  cause  of  this  dissension. 

Chor.  From  reports 

Uncertain,  and  suspicions  most  injurious, 
The  quarrel  rose. 

Joe.  Was  th'  accusation  mutual? 

Chor.  It  was. 

Joe.  What  followed  then  ? 

C/tor.  Ask  me  no  more  ; 

Enough's  already  known  ;  we'll  not  repeat 
The  woes  of  hapless  Thebes. 

(Edi.  You  are  all  blind, 

Insensible,  unjust;  you  love  me  not, 
Yet  boast  your  piety. 

Chor.  I  said  before, 

Again  I  say,  that  not  to  love  my  king 
E'en  as  myself,  would  mark  me  for  the  worst 
Of  men.     For  thou  didst  save  expiring  Thebes. 
Oh  !  rise  once  more,  protect,  preserve  thy  country  ! 

Joe.  O  king !  inform  me,  whence  this  strange  dissen- 
sion? 

(Edi.  I'll  tell  thee,  my  Jocasta,  for  thou  knowst 
The  love  I  bear  thee,  what  this  wicked  Creon 
Did  artfully  devise  against  me. 

Joe.  Speak  it, 

If  he  indeed  be  guilty. 

(Edi.   •  Creon  says 

That  I  did  murder  Laius. 

Joe.  Spake  he  this 

As  knowing  it  himself,  or  from  another? 

(Edi.  He  had  suborned  that  evil-working  priest, 
And  sharpens  every  tongue  against  his  king. 

Joe.  Let  not  a  fear  perplex  thee,  (Edipus  ; 
Mortals  know  nothing  of  futurity, 


168  SOPHOi  !  ES 

And  these  prophetic  seers  are  all  impostors ; 

I'll  prove  it  to  thee.     Know  then,  Laius  once, 

Not  from  Apollo,  but  his  priests,  received 

An  oracle,  which  said  it  was  decreed 

He  should  be  slain  by  his  own  son,  the  offspring 

Of  Laius  and  Jocasta.     Yet  he  fell 

By  strangers,  murdered,  for  so  fame  reports, 

By  robbers,  in  the  place  where  three  ways  meet. 

A  son  was  born,  but  ere  three  days  had  passed 

The  infant's  feet  were  bored.     A  servant  took 

And  left  him  on  the  pathless  mountain's  top, 

To  perish  there.     Thus  Phoebus  ne'er  decreed 

That  he  should  kill  his  father,  or  that  Laius, 

Which  much  he  feared,  should  by  his  son  be  slain. 

Such  is  the  truth  of  oracles.     Henceforth 

Regard  them  not.     What  Heaven  would  have  us  know, 

It  can  with  ease  unfold,  and  will  reveal  it. 

(Edi.  What  thou  hast  said,  Jocasta,  much  disturbs  me 
I  tremble  at  it. 

Joe.  Wherefore  shouldst  thou  fear? 

(Edi.  Methought  I  heard  thee  say,  Laius  was  slain 
Where  three  ways  meet. 

Joe.  'Twas  so  reported  then, 

And  is  so  still. 

(Edi.  Where  happened  the  misfortune? 

Joe.  In  Phocis,  where  the  roads  unite  that  lead 
To  Delphi  and  to  Daulia. 

CEdi.  How  long  since? 

Joe.  A  little  time  ere  you  began  to  rei^n 
O'er  Thebes,  we  heard  it. 

(Edi.  O  almighty  Jove  ! 

What  wilt  thou  do  with  me? 

Joe.  Why  talkst  thou  thus? 

(Edi.  Ask  me  no  more ;  but  tell  me  of  this  Laius: 
What  was  his  age  and  stature  ? 

Joe.  I  lo  was  tall  ; 

IIi>  hairs  just  turning  to  the  silver  hue1  ; 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  169 

His  form  not  much  unlike  thy  own. 

CEdi.  Oh  me ! 

Sure  I  have  called  down  curses  on  myself 
Unknowing. 

Joe.  Ha!  what  sayst  thou,  CEdipus? 

I  tremble  while  I  look  on  thee. 

CEdi.  Oh!  much 

I  fear  the  prophet  saw  too  well ;  but  say, 
One  thing  will  make  it  clear. 

Joe.  I  dread  to  hear  it ; 

Yet  speak,  and  I  will  tell  thee. 

CEdi.  Went  he  forth 

With  few  attendants,  or  a  numerous  train, 
In  kingly  pomp? 

Joe.  They  were  but  five  in  all, 

The  herald  with  them  ;  but  one  chariot  there, 
Which  carried  Laius. 

CEdi.  Oh  !  'tis  but  too  plain. 

Who  brought  the  news  ? 

Joe.  A  servant,  who  alone 

Escaped  with  life. 

CEdi.  That  servant,  is  he  here  ? 

Joe.  Oh,  no !     His  master  slain,  when  he  returned 
And  saw  thee  on  the  throne  of  Thebes,  with  prayer 
Most  earnest  he  beseeched  me  to  dismiss  him, 
That  he  might  leave  this  city,  where  he  wished 
No  longer  to  be  seen,  but  to  retire, 
And  feed  my  flocks  ;  I  granted  his  request ; 
For  that  and  more  his  honest  services 
Had  merited. 

CEdi.  I  beg  he  may  be  sent  for 

Immediately. 

Joe.  He  shall ;  but  wherefore  is  it? 

CEdi.  I  fear  thou'st  said  too  much,  and  therefore  wish 
To  see  him. 

Joe.  He  shall  come  ;  but,  O  my  lord ! 

Am  I  not  worthy  to  be  told  the  cause 
7 


I  ;o  SOPHOCLES 

Of  this  distress? 

(Edi.  Thou  art,  and  I  will  tell  thee ; 

Thou  art  my  hope — to  whom  should  I  impart 
My  sorrows,  but  to  thee?     Know  then,  Jocasta, 
I  am  the  son  of  Polybus,  who  reigns 
At  Corinth,  and  the  Dorian  Merope 
His  queen  ;  there  long  I  held  the  foremost  rank, 
Honoured  and  happy,  when  a  strange  event 
(For  strange  it  was,  though  little  meriting 
The  deep  concern  I  felt)  alarmed  me  much : 
A  drunken  reveller  at  a  feast  proclaimed 
That  I  was  only  the  supposed  son 
Of  Corinth's  king.     Scarce  could  I  bear  that  day 
The  vile  reproach.     The  next,  I  sought  my  parents 
And  asked  of  them  the  truth  ;  they  too,  enraged, 
Resented  much  the  base  indignity. 
I  liked  their  tender  warmth,  but  still  I  felt 
A  secret  anguish,  and,  unknown  to  them, 
Sought  out  the  Pythian  oracle.     In  vain. 
Touching  my  parents  nothing  could  I  learn ; 
But  dreadful  were  the  miseries  it  denounced 
Against  me.     Twas  my  fate,  Apollo  said, 
To  wed  my  mother,  to  produce  a  race 
Accursed  and  abhorred  ;  and  last,  to  slay 
Mv  father  who  begat  me.     Sad  decree! 
Lest  I  should  e'er  fulfil  the  dire  prediction, 
Instant  I  fled  from  Corinth,  by  the  stars 
Guiding  my  hapless  journey  to  the  place 
Where  thou  report'st  this  wretched  king  was  slain. 
But  I  will  tell  thee  the  whole  truth.     At  length 
I  came  to  where  the  three  ways  meet,  when,  lo! 
A  herald,  with  another  man  like  him 
Whom  thou  describ'st,  and  in  a  chariot,  met  me. 
Both  strove  with  violence  to  drive  me  back ; 
Enraged,  I  struck  the  charioteer,  when  straight, 
As  I  advanced,  the  old  man  saw,  and  twice 
Smote  me  o*  th'  head,  but  clearly  soon  repaid 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  171 

The  insult  on  me  ;  from  his  chariot  rolled 
Prone  on  the  earth,  beneath  my  staff  he  fell, 
And  instantly  expired  !     Th'  attendant  train 
All  shared  his  fate.     If  this  unhappy  stranger 
And  Laius  be  the  same,  lives  there  a  wretch 
So  cursed,  so  hateful  to  the  gods  as  I  am  ? 
Nor  citizen  nor  alien  must  receive, 
Or  converse,  or  communion  hold  with  me, 
But  drive  me  forth  with  infamy  and  shame. 
The  dreadful  curse  pronounced  with  my  own  lips 
Shall  soon  o'ertake  me.     I  have  stained  the  bed 
Of  him  whom  I  had  murdered;  am  I  then 
Aught  but  pollution  ?     If  I  fly  from  hence, 
The  bed  of  incest  meets  me,  and  I  go 
To  slay  my  father  Polybus,  the  best, 
The  tenderest  parent.     This  must  be  the  work 
Of  some  malignant  power.     Ye  righteous  gods! 
Let  me  not  see  that  day,  but  rest  in  death, 
Rather  than  suffer  such  calamity. 

Chor.  O  king !  we  pity  thy  distress  ;  but  wait 
With  patience  his  arrival,  and  despair  not. 

(Edi.  That  shepherd  is  my  only  hope :  Jocasta, 
Would  he  were  here  ! 

Joe,  Suppose  he  were  ;  what  then  ? 

What  wouldst  thou  do  ? 

(Edi.  I'll  tell  thee  :  if  he  says 

The  same  as  thou  dost,  I  am  safe  and  guiltless. 

Joe.  What  said  I  then  ? 

(Edi.  Thou  saidst  he  did  report 

Laius  was  slain  by  robbers ;  if  'tis  true 
He  fell  by  numbers,  I  am  innocent, 
For  I  was  unattended  ;  if  but  one 
Attacked  and  slew  him,  doubtless  I  am  he. 

Joe.  Be  satisfied  it  must  be  as  he  first 
Reported  it ;  he  can  not  change  the  tale  : 
Not  I  alone,  but  the  whole  city  heard  it. 
Or  grant  he  should,  the  oracle  was  ne'er 


172  SOPHOCLES 

Fulfilled  :  for  Phoebus  said,  Jocasta's  son 
Should  slay  his  father.     That  could  never  be  ; 
For,  oh  !  Jocasta's  son  long  since  is  dead. 
He  could  not  murder  Laius ;  therefore  never 
Will  I  attend  to  prophecies  again. 

(Edi.  Right,  my  Jocasta ;  but,  I  beg  thee,  send 
And  fetch  this  shepherd  ;  do  not  fail. 

Joe.  I  will 

This  moment ;  come,  my  lord,  let  us  go  in  : 
I  will  do  nothing  but  what  pleases  thee.  [Exeunt. 

CHORUS.     Strophe  i 
Grant  me  henceforth,  ye  powers  divine, 

In  virtue's  purest  paths  to  tread  ! 

In  every  word,  in  every  deed, 
May  sanctity  of  manners  ever  shine ! 

Obedient  to  the  laws  of  Jove, 

The  laws  descended  from  above, 
Which,  not  like  those  by  feeble  mortals  given, 

Buried  in  dark  oblivion  lie, 

Or  worn  by  time  decay,  and  die, 
But  bloom  eternal  like  their  native  heaven ! 

Antistrophe  i 

Pride  first  gave  birth  to  tyranny : 

That  hateful  vice,  insulting  pride, 
When,  every  human  power  defied, 

She  lifts  to  glory's  height  her  votary  ; 

Soon  stumbling,  from  her  tottering  throne 
She  throws  the  wretched  victim  down. 

But  may  the  god  indulgent  hear  my  prayer, 
That  god  whom  humbly  I  adore ; 
Oh  !  may  he  smile  on  Thebes  once  more, 

And  take  its  wretched  monarch  to  his  care ! 

Strophe  2 

Perish  the  impious  and  profane, 

Who,  void  of  rev  rcntial  fear, 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  173 

Nor  justice  nor  the  laws  revere, 
Who  leave  their  god  for  pleasure  or  for  gain ! 

Who  swell  by  fraud  their  ill-got  store, 

Who  rob  the  wretched  and  the  poor ! 
If  vice  unpunished  virtue's  meed  obtain, 

Who  shall  refrain?  the  impetuous  soul, 

The  rebel  passions  who  control, 
Or  wherefore  do  I  lead  this  choral  train? 

s 

Antistrophe  2 

No  more  to  Delphi's  sacred  shrine 

Need  we  with  incense  now  repair, 

No  more  shall  Phocis  hear  our  prayer; 

Nor  fair  Olympia  see  her  rites  divine  ; 
If  oracles  no  longer  prove, 
The  power  of  Phoebus  and  of  Jove. 

Great  lord  of  all,  from  thy  eternal  throne 
Behold,  how  impious  men  defame 
Thy  loved  Apollo's  honoured  name  ; 
Oh  !  guard  his  rights,  and  vindicate  thy  own. 

\Exeunt. 

JOCASTA,  CHORUS 

Jocasta.  Sages  and  rulers  of  the  land,  I  come 
To  seek  the  altars  of  the  gods,  and  there 
VVith  incense  and  oblations  to  appease 
Offended  Heaven.     My  CEdipus,  alas ! 
No  longer  wise  and  prudent,  as  you  all 
Remember  once  he  was,  with  present  things 
Compares  the  past,  nor  judges  like  himself; 
Unnumbered  cares  perplex  his  anxious  mind, 
And  every  tale  awakes  new  terrors  in  him  ; 
Vain  is  my  counsel,  for  he  hears  me  not. 
First,  then,  to  thee,  O  Phoebus!  for  thou  still 
Art  near  to  help  the  wretched,  we  appeal, 
And  suppliant  beg  thee  now  to  grant  thy  aid 
Propitious  ;  deep  is  our  distress  ;  for,  oh  ! 


I74  SOPHOCLES 

We  see  our  pilot  sinking  at  the  helm, 
And  much  already  fear  the  vessel  lost. 

SHEPHERD  FROM  CORINTH,  JOCASTA,  CHORUS 

Shep.  Can  you  instruct  me,  strangers,  which  way  lies 
The  palace  of  King  CEdipus?  llimself 
I  would  most  gladly  see.     Can  you  inform  me? 

Chor.  This  is  the  palace  ;  he  is  now  within  ; 
Thou  seest  his  queen  before  thee. 

Shcp.  Ever  blest 

And  happy  with  the  happy  mayst  thou  live  ! 

Joe.  Stranger,  the  same  good  wish  to  thee,  for  well 
Thy  words  deserve  it ;  but  say,  wherefore  com'st  thou, 
And  what's  thy  news? 

Shep.  To  thee,  and  to  thy  husband, 

Pleasure  and  joy. 

Joe.  What  pleasure  ?   And  whence  art  thou  ? 

Shep.  From  Corinth.     To  be  brief,  I  bring  thee  tidings 
Of  good  and  evil. 

Joe.  Ha  !  what  mean  thy  words 

Ambiguous? 

Shcp.  Know  then,  if  report  say  true, 

The  Isthmian  people  will  choose  CEdipus 
Their  sovereign. 

Joe.  Is  not  Poly  bus  their  king? 

Shcp.  No  ;  Poly  bus  is  dead. 

Joe.  What  sayst  thou  ?   Dead? 

Shep.  If  I  speak  falsely,  may  death  seize  on  me! 

Joe.  {to  one  of  her  ATTENDANTS].     Why  fliest  thou  not 

to  tell  thy  master?     Hence! 
What  are  you  now,  you  oracles  divine? 
Where  is  your  truth  ?     The  fearful  CEdipus 
From  Corinth  fled,  lest  he  should  slay  the  king, 
This  Polybus,  who  perished,  not  by  him, 
But  by  the  hand  of  Heaven. 


(KDIPUS  TYRANNUS  175 

(EDIPUS,  JOCASTA,  SHEPHERD,  CHORUS 

CEdi.  My  dear  Jocasta, 

Why  hast  thou  called  me  hither? 

joc.  Hear  this  man, 

And  when  thou  hear'st  him,  mark  what  faith  is  due 
To  your  revered  oracles. 

CEdi.  Who  is  he  ? 

And  what  doth  he  report  ? 

joc.  He  comes  from  Corinth, 

And  says  thy  father  Polybus  is  dead. 

CEdi.  What  sayst  thou,  stranger?     Speak  to  me— oh! 
speak ! 

Shep.  If  touching  this  thou  first  desir'st  my  answer; 
Know,  he  is  dead. 

CEdi.  How  died  he  ?     Say,  by  treason, 

Or  some  disease? 

S/tep.  Alas !  a  little  force 

Will  lay  to  rest  the  weary  limbs  of  age. 

CEdi.  Distemper  then  did  kill  him  ? 

SJiep.  That  in  part, 

And  part  a  length  of  years  that  wore  him  down, 

CEdi.  Now,  my  Jocasta,  who  shall  henceforth  trust 
To  prophecies,  and  seers,  and  clamorous  birds 
With  their  vain  omens — they  who  had  decreed 
That  I  should  kill  my  father  ?     He  thou  seest 
Beneath  the  earth  lies  buried,  while  I  live 
In  safety  here  and  guiltless  of  his  blood : 
Unless  perhaps  sorrow  for  loss  of  me 
Shortened  his  days,  thus  only  could  I  kill 
My  father.     But  he's  gone,  and  to  the  shades 
Hath  carried  with  him  those  vain  oracles 
Of  fancied  ills,  no  longer  worth  my  care. 

Joe:  Did  I  not  say  it  would  be  thus  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  didst ; 

But  I  was  full  of  fears. 

Joe.  Henceforth,  no  more 

Indulge  them. 


176  SOPHOCLES 

(Edi.  But  my  mother's  bed — that  still 

Must  be  avoided.     I  must  fly  from  that. 

Joe.  Why  should  man  fear,  whom  chance,  and  chance 

alone, 

Doth  ever  rule  ?     Foreknowledge,  all  is  vain, 
And  can  determine  nothing.     Therefore  best 
It  is  to  live  as  fancy  leads,  at  large, 
Uncurbed,  and  only  subject  to  our  will. 
Fear  not  thy  mother's  bed.     Ofttimes  in  dreams 
Have  men  committed  incest.     But  his  life 
Will  ever  be  most  happy  who  contemns 
Such  idle  phantoms. 

(Edi.  Thou  wert  right,  Jocasta, 

Did  not  my  mother  live.     But  as  it  is, 
Spite  of  thy  words,  I  must  be  anxious  still. 

Joe.  Think  on  thy  father's  death  ;  it  is  a  light 
To  guide  thee  here. 

(Edi.  It  is  so.     Yet  I  fear 

While  she  survives  him. 

Shep.  Who  is  it  you  mean  ? 

What  woman  fear  you  ? 

(Edi.  Merope,  the  wife 

Of  Polybus. 

Shep.  And  wherefore  fear  you  her  ? 

(Edi.  Know,  stranger,  a  most  dreadful  oracle 
Concerning  her  affrights  me. 

Shep.  May  I  know  it, 

Or  must  it  be  revealed  to  none  but  thee  ? 

(Edi.  Oh,  no  !  I'll  tell  thee.     Phoebus  hath  declared 
That  CEdipus  should  stain  his  mother's  bed, 
And  dip  his  hands  in  his  own  father's  blood  ; 
Wherefore  I  fled  from  Corinth,  and  lived  here, 
In  happiness  indeed.     But  still  thou  knowst 
It  is  a  blessing  to  behold  our  parents, 
And  that  I  had  not. 

Shep.  Was  it  for  this  cause 

Thou  wert  an  exile  then  ? 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  177 

(Edi.  It  was.     I  feared 

That  I  might  one  day  prove  my  father's  murderer. 

Shep.  What  if  I  come,  O  king  !  to  banish  hence 
Thy  terrors,  and  restore  thy  peace  ? 

(Edi,  Oh,  stranger ! 

Couldst  thou  do  this,  I  would  reward  thee  nobly. 

Shep.  Know  then,  for  this  I  came.     I  came  to  serve, 
And  make  thee  happy. 

(Edi.  But  I  will  not  go 

Back  to  my  parents. 

Shep.  Son,  I  see  thou  knowst  not 

What  thou  art  doing. 

(Edi.  Wherefore  thinkst  thou  so  ? 

By  Heaven  I  beg  thee  then  do  thou  instruct  me. 

Shep.  If  thou  didst  fly  from  Corinth  for  this  cause 

(Edi.  Apollo's  dire  predictions  still  affright  me. 

Shep.  Fearst  thou  pollution  from  thy  parents  ? 

(Edi.  That, 

And  that  alone  I  dread. 

Shep.  Thy  fears  are  vain. 

(Edi.  Not  if  they  are  my  parents. 

Shep.  Poly  bus 

Was  not  akin  to  thee. 

(Edi.  What  sayst  thou  ?     Speak, 

Say,  was  not  Polybus  my  father? 

Shep.  .      No ; 

No  more  than  he  is  mine. 

(Edi.  Why  call  me  then 

His  son  ? 

Shep.      Because  long  since  I  gave  thee  to  him — 
He  did  receive  thee  from  these  hands. 

(Edi.  Indeed ! 

And  could  he  love  another's  child  so  well  ? 

Shep.  He  had  no  children  ;  that  persuaded  him 
To  take  and  keep  thee. 

(Edi.  Didst  thou  buy  me,  then, 

Or  am  I  thine,  and  must  I  call  thee  father? 


178  SOPHOCLES 

Shep,  I  found  thee  in  Cithasron's  woody  vale. 

CEdi.  What  brought  thee  there? 

S/icp.  I  came  to  feed  my  flocks 

On  the  green  mountain's  side. 

CEdi.  It  seems  thou  wert 

A  wandering  shepherd. 

Shcp.  Thy  deliverer ; 

I  saved  thee  from  destruction. 

CEdi.  How  ?     What  then 

Had  happened  to  me? 

Shep.  Thy  own  feet  will  best 

Inform  thee  of  that  circumstance. 

CEdi.  Alas ! 

Why  callst  thou  to  remembrance  a  misfortune 
Of  so  long  date  ? 

Shcp.  'Twas  I  who  loosed  the  tendons 

Of  thy  bored  feet. 

CEdi.  It  seems  in  infancy 

I  suffered  much,  then. 

Shep.  To  this  incident 

Thou  ow'st  thy  name. 

CEdi.  My  father,  or  my  mother, 

Who  did  it  ?     Knowst  thou  ? 

Shep.  He  who  gave  thee  to  me 

Must  tell  thee  that. 

CEdi.  Then  from  another's  hand 

Thou  didst  receive  me. 

Shep.  Ay,  another  shepherd. 

CEdi.  Who  was  he  ?     Canst  thou  recollect  ? 

Shcp.  Twas  one, 

At  least  so  called,  of  Laius'  family. 

CEdi.  Laius,  who  ruled  at  Thebes  ? 

Shep.  The  same  ;  this  man 

Was  shepherd  to  King  Laius. 

CEdi.  Lives  he  still  ? 

And  could  I  see  him  ? 

Shep.  [pointing  to  the  CHORUS].  Some  of  these  perhaps, 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  179 

His  countrymen,  may  give  you  information. 

CEdi.  [to  the  CHORUS].  Oh !  speak,  my  friends,  if  any 

of  you  know 

This  shepherd  ;  whether  still  he  lives  at  Thebes, 
Or  in  some  neighbouring  country.     Tell  me  quick, 
For  it  concerns  us  near. 

Chor.  It  must  be  he 

Whom  thou  didst  lately  send  for;  but  the  queen 
Can  best  inform  thee. 

(Edi.  Knowst  thou,  my  Jocasta, 

Whether  the  man  whom  thou  didst  order  hither, 
And  whom  the  shepherd  speaks  of,  be  the  same  ? 

Joe.  Whom  meant  he?  for  I  know  not.     CEdipus, 
Think  not  so  deeply  of  this  thing. 

(Edi.  Good  heaven  ! 

Forbid,  Jocasta,  I  should  now  neglect 
To  clear  my  birth,  when  thus  the  path  is  marked 
And  open  to  me. 

Joe.  Do  not,  by  the  gods 

I  beg  thee,  do  not,  if  thy  life  be  dear, 
Make  further  search,  for  I  have  felt  enough 
Already  from  it. 

(Edi.  Rest  thou  satisfied  ; 

Were  I  descended  from  a  race  of  slaves, 
'Twould  not  dishonour  thee. 

Joe.  Yet  hear  me  ;  do  not, 

Once  more  I  beg  thee,  do  not  search  this  matter. 

(Edi.  I  will  not  be  persuaded.     I  must  search 
And  find  it  too. 

Joe.  I  know  it  best,  and  best 

Advise  thee. 

CEdi.  That  advice  perplexes  more. 

Joe.  Oh  !  would  to  Heaven  that  thou  mayst  never  know 
Or  who  or  whence  thou  art ! 

(Edi.  \to  the  ATTENDANTS].  Let  some  one  fetch 
That  shepherd  quick,  and  leave  this  woman  here 
To  glory  in  her  high  descent. 


1 80  SOPHOCLES 

Joe.  Alas ! 

Unhappy  QEdipus  !  that  word  alone 
I  now  can  speak :  remember  'tis  my  last. 

{Exit  JOCASTA. 

CEDIPUS,  CHORUS 

Chor.  Why  fled  the  queen  in  such  disorder  hence  ? 
Sorely  distressed  she  seemed,  and  much  I  fear 
Her  silence  bodes  some  sad  event. 

(Edi.  Whate'er 

May  come  of  that,  I  am  resolved  to  know 
The  secret  of  my  birth,  how  mean  soever 
It  chance  to  prove.     Perhaps  her  sex's  pride 
May  make  her  blush  to  find  I  was  not  born 
Of  noble  parents ;  but  I  call  myself 
The  son  of  fortune,  my  indulgent  mother, 
Whom  I  shall  never  be  ashamed  to  own, 
The  kindred  months  that  are  like  me,  her  children, 
The  years  that  roll  obedient  to  her  will, 
Have  raised  me  from  the  lowest  state  to  power 
And  splendour.     Wherefore,  being  what  I  am, 
I  need  not  fear  the  knowledge  of  my  birth. 

CHORUS.     Strophe 

If  my  prophetic  soul  doth  well  divine, 
Ere  on  thy  brow  to-morrow's  sun  shall  shine, 

Cithaeron,  thou  the  mystery  shalt  unfold  ; 
The  doubtful  CEdipus,  no  longer  blind, 
Shall  soon  his  country  and  his  father  find, 
And  all  the  story  of  his  birth  be  told. 
Then  shall  we  in  grateful  lays 
Celebrate  our  monarch's  praise, 
And  in  the  sprightly  dance  our  songs  triumphant  raise. 

A  ntistropJie 

What  heavenly  power  gave  birth  to  thee,  O  king ! 
From  fan.  the  god  of  mountains,  didst  thou  spring, 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  l8l 

With  some  fair  daughter  of  Apollo  joined  ; 
Art  thou  from  him  who  o'er  Cyllene  reigns, 
Swift  Hermes,  sporting  in  Arcadia's  plains  ? 
Some  nymph  of  Helicon  did  Bacchus  find — 
Bacchus,  who  delights  to  rove 
Through  the  forest,  hill,  and  grove — 
And  art  thou,  prince,  the  offspring  of  their  love  ? 

CEDIPUS,  CHORUS,  SHEPHERD  FROM  CORINTH 

(Edi.  If  I  may  judge  of  one  whom  yet  I  ne'er 
Had  converse  with,  yon  old  man,  whom  I  see 
This  way  advancing,  must  be  that  same  shepherd 
We  lately  sent  for,  by  his  age  and  mien, 
E'en  as  this  stranger  did  describe  him  to  us ; 
My  servants  too  are  with  him.     But  you  best 
Can  say,  for  you  must  know  him  well. 

Chor:  'Tis  he, 

My  lord  ;  the  faithful  shepherd  of  King  Laius. 

(Edi.  [to  the   SHEPHERD  from  Corint1i\,     What   sayst 
thou,  stranger? — is  it  he? 

Shep.  It  is. 

OLD  SHEPHERD,  CEDIPUS,  SHEPHERD  FROM  CORINTH, 

CHORUS 

(Edi.  Now  answer  me,  old  man  ;  look  this  way — speak ; 
Didst  thou  belong  to  Laius? 

Old  Shep.  Sir,  I  did  ; 

No  hireling  slave,  but  in  his  palace  bred, 
I  served  him  long. 

(Edi.  What  was  thy  business  there  ? 

Old  Shep.  For  my  life's  better  part  I  tended  sheep. 

(Edi.  And  whither  didst  thou  lead  them  ? 

Old  Shep.  To  Cithseron, 

And  to  the  neighbouring  plains. 

(Edi.  Behold  this  man  : 

[pointing  to  the  SHEPHERD  of  Corinth. 
Dost  thou  remember  to  have  seen  him  ? 


182  SOPHOCLES 

Old  Shep.  Whom  ? 

What  hath  he  done  ? 

CEdi.  Him,  who  now  stands  before  thee, 

Callst  thou  to  mind,  or  converse  or  connection 
Between  you  in  times  past  ? 

Old  Shcp.  I  can  not  say 

I  recollect  it  now. 

Shep.  of  Corinth.  I  do  not  wonder 
He  should  forget  me,  but  I  will  recall 
Some  facts  of  ancient  date.     He  must  remember 
When  on  Cithaeron  we  together  fed 
Our  several  flocks,  in  daily  converse  joined 
From  spring  to  autumn,  and  when  winter  bleak 
Approached,  retired.     I  to  my  little  cot 
Conveyed  my  sheep  ;  he  to  the  palace  led 
His  fleecy  care.     Canst  thou  remember  this? 

Old  Shep.  I  do  ;  but  that  is  long,  long  since. 

Skep.  of  Corinth.  It  is  ; 

But  say,  good  shepherd,  canst  thou  call  to  mind 
An  infant  whom  thou  didst  deliver  to  me, 
Requesting  me  to  breed  him  as  my  own  ? 

Old  Shcp.  Ha!  wherefore  askst  thou  this? 

Shep.  of  Corinth  [pointing  to  CEDIPUS].  Behold  him 

here, 
That  very  child. 

Old  Shcp.  Oh  !  say  it  not :  away  ! 

Perdition  on  thee ! 

CEdi.  Why  reprove  him  thus? 

Thou  art  thyself  to  blame,  old  man. 

Old  Shcp.  In  what 

Am  I  to  blame,  my  lord  ? 

CEdi.  Thou  wilt  not  speak 

Touching  this  boy. 

Old  SJicp.  Alas!  poor  man,  he  knows  not 
What  IK-  hath  said. 

(J-'.di.  If  not  by  softer  means 

To  be  persuaded,  force  shall  wring  it  from  thee. 


(KDIl'US   TYRANNUS  183 

Old  Shep.  Treat  not  an  old  man  harshly. 

CEdi.  [to  the  ATTENDANTS].  Bind  his  hands. 

Old  Shep.  Wherefore,  my  lord?     What  wouldst  thou 
have  me  do? 

CEdi.  That  child    he   talks  of,  didst  thou   give   it   to 
him  ? 

Old  Shep.   I   did ;  and  would   to  Heaven    I    then   had 
died! 

CEdi.  Die  soon  thou  shalt,  unless  thou  tellst  it  all. 

Old  Shep.  Say,  rather  if  I  do. 

CEdi.  This  fellow  means 

To  trifle  with  us,  by  his  dull  delay. 

Old  Shep.  I  do  not ;  said  I  not  I  gave  the  child  ? 

CEdi.  Whence  came  the  boy  ?     Was  he  thy  own,  or  who 
Did  give  him  to  thee? 

Old  Shep.  From  another  hand 

I  had  received  him. 

CEdi.  Say,  what  hand  ?     From  whom  ? 

Whence  came  he? 

Old  Shep.  Do  not — by  the  gods  I  beg  thee, 

Do  not  inquire  ! 

CEdi.  Force  me  to  ask  again, 

And  thou  shalt  die  ! 

Old  Shep.  In  Laius'  palace  born 

CEdi.  Son  of  a  slave,  or  of  the  king  ? 

Old  Shep.  Alas ! 

'Tis  death  for  me  to  speak. 

(Edi.  And  me  to  hear ; 

Yet  say  it. 

Old  Shep.  He  was  called  the  son  of  Laius  ; 
But  ask  the  queen,  for  she  can  best  inform  thee. 

CEdi.  Did  she  then  give  the  child  to  thee  ? 

Old  Shep.  She  did. 

CEdi.  For  what? 

Old  Shep.  To  kill  him. 

CEdi.  Kill  her  child  !     Inhuman 

And  barbarous  mother ! 


1 84  SOPHOCLES 

Old  SJiep.  A  dire  oracle 

Affrighted,  and  constrained  her  to  it. 

(Edi.  Ha ! 

What  oracle  ? 

Old  She  p.       Which  said,  her  son  should  slay 
His  parents. 

(Edi.  Wherefore  gav'st  thou  then  the  infant 

To  this  old  shepherd  ? 

Old  Shcp.  Pity  moved  me  to  it : 

I  hoped  he  would  have  soon  conveyed  his  charge 
To  some  far-distant  country  ;  he,  alas  ! 
Preserved  him  but  for  misery  and  woe  ; 
For,  O  my  lord  !  if  thou  indeed  art  he, 
Thou  art  of  all  mankind  the  most  unhappy. 

(Edi.  O  me  !  at  length  the  mystery's  unravelled  ; 
Tis  plain,  'tis  clear ;  my  fate  is  all  determined. 
Those  are  my  parents  who  should  not  have  been 
Allied  to  me ;  she  is  my  wife,  e'en  she 
Whom  Nature  had  forbidden  me  to  wed  ; 
I  have  slain  him  who  gave  me  life ;  and  now 
Of  thee,  O  light !  I  take  my  last  farewell, 
For  CEdipus  shall  ne'er  behold  thee  more.  [Exeunt. 

CHORUS.   Strophe  i 

O  hapless  state  of  human  race  ! 

How  quick  the  fleeting  shadows  pass 

Of  transitory  bliss  below, 

Where  all  is  vanity  and  woe  ! 
By  thy  example  taught,  O  prince  !  we  see 
Man  was  not  made  for  true  felicity. 

AntistropJie  I 

Thou,  (Edipus,  beyond  the  rest 
Of  mortals  wert  supremely  blest ; 
Whom  every  hand  conspired  to  raise, 
Whom  every  tongue  rejoiced  to  praise, 


OEDIPUS    TYRANM  S 


I85 


When  from  the  Sphinx  thy  all-preserving  hand 
Stretched  forth  its  aid  to  save  a  sinking  land. 

Strophe  2 

Thy  virtues  raised  thee  to  a  throne, 
And  grateful  Thebes  was  all  thy  own ; 
Alas  !  how  changed  that  glorious  name  ! 
Lost  are  thy  virtues  and  thy  fame ; 

How  couldst  thou  thus  pollute  thy  father's  bed  ? 

How  couldst  thou  thus  thy  hapless  mother  wed  ? 

AntistropJie  2 

How  could  that  bed  unconscious  bear 
So  long  the  vile  incestuous  pair  ? 
But  time,  of  quick  and  piercing  sight, 
Hath  brought  the  horrid  deed  to  light ; 
At  length  Jocasta  owns  her  guilty  flame, 
And  finds  a  husband  and  a  child  the  same. 

Epode 

Wretched  son  of  Laius,  thee 

Henceforth  may  I  never  see, 

But  absent  shed  the  pious  tear, 

And  weep  thy  fate  with  grief  sincere  ! 
For  thou  didst  raise  our  eyes  to  life  and  light, 
To  close  them  now  in  everlasting  night. 

MESSENGER,  CHORUS 

Messenger.  Sages  of  Thebes,   most  honoured   and  re- 
vered, 

If  e'er  the  house  of  Labdacus  was  dear 
And  precious  to  you,  what  will  be  your  grief 
When  I  shall  tell  the  most  disastrous  tale 
You  ever  heard,  and  to  your  eyes  present 
A  spectacle  more  dreadful  than  they  yet 
Did  e'er  behold  ?     Not  the  wide  Danube's  waves 
Nor  Phasis'  streams  can  wash  away  the  stains 


186  SOPHOCLES 

Of  this  polluted  palace  ;  the  dire  crimes 
Long  time  concealed  at  length  are  brought  to  light ; 
But  those  which  spring  from  voluntary  guilt 
Are  still  more  dreadful. 

Chor.  Nothing  can  be  worse 

Than  that  we  know  already ;  bringst  thou  more 
Misfortunes  to  us  ? 

Mes.  To  be  brief,  the  queen, 

Divine  Jocasta's  dead. 

Chor.  Jocasta  dead  !     Say,  by  what  hand? 

Mes.  Her  own ; 

And  what's  more  dreadful,  no  one  saw  the  deed. 
What  I  myself  beheld  you  all  shall  hear. 
Inflamed  with  rage,  soon  as  she  reached  the  palace, 
Instant  retiring  to  the  nuptial  bed, 
She  shut  the  door,  then  raved  and  tore  her  hair, 
Called  out  on  Laius  dead,  and  bade  him  think 
On  that  unhappy  son  who  murdered  him 
And  stained  his  bed  ;  then  turning  her  sad  eyes 
Upon  the  guilty  couch,  she  cursed  the  place 
Where  she  had  borne  a  husband  from  her  husband, 
And  children  from  her  child  ;  what  followed  then 
I  know  not,  by  the  cries  of  (Edipus 
Prevented,  for  on  him  our  eyes  were  fixed 
Attentive  ;  forth  he  came,  beseeching  us 
To  lend  him  some  sharp  weapon,  and  inform  him 
Where  he  might  find  his  mother  and  his  wife, 
His  children's  wretched  mother  and  his  own. 
Some  ill-designing  power  did  then  direct  him 
(For  we  were  silent)  to  the  queen's  apartment ; 
Forcing  the  bolt,  he  rushed  into  the  bed, 
And  found  Jocasta,  where  we  all  beheld  her, 
Entangled  in  the  fatal  noose,  which  soon 
As  he  perceived,  loosing  the  pendant  rope, 
Deeply  he  groaned,  and  casting  on  the  ground 
His  wretched  body,  showed  a  piteous  sight 
To  the  beholders ;  on  a  sudden,  thence 


CEDIPUS  TYRANNUS  187 

Starting,  he  plucked  from  off  the  robe  she  wore 

A  golden  buckle  that  adorned  her  side, 

And  buried  in  his  eyes  the  sharpened  point, 

Crying,  he  ne'er  again  would  look  on  her, 

Never  would  see  his  crimes  or  miseries  more, 

Or  those  whom  guiltless  he  could  ne'er  behold, 

Or  those  to  whom  he  now  must  sue  for  aid. 

His  lifted  eyelids  then,  repeating  still 

These  dreadful  plaints,  he  tore  ;  while  down  his  cheek 

Fell  showers  of  blood  !     Such  fate  the  wretched  pair 

Sustained,  partakers  in  calamity, 

Fallen  from  a  state  of  happiness  (for  none 

Were  happier  once  than  they)  to  groans  and  death, 

Reproach  and  shame,  and  every  human  woe. 

Chor.  And  where  is  now  the  poor  unhappy  man? 

Mes.  Open  the  doors,  he  cries,  and  let  all  Thebes 
Behold  his  parents'  murderer,  adding  words 
Not  to  be  uttered  ;  banished  now,  he  says, 
He  must  be,  nor,  devoted  as  he  is 
By  his  own  curse,  remain  in  this  sad  place. 
He  wants  a  kind  conductor  and  a  friend 
To  help  him  now,  for  'tis  too  much  to  bear. 
But  you  will  see  him  soon,  for  lo !  the  doors 
Are  opened,  and  you  will  behold  a  sight 
That  would  to  pity  move  his  deadliest  foe. 

CEDIPUS,  MESSENGER,  CHORUS 
Chor.  Oh  !  horrid  sight !  more  dreadful  spectacle 

Than  e'er  these  eyes  beheld  !  what  madness  urged  thee 

To  this  sad  deed  ?     What  power  malignant  heaped 

On  thy  poor  head  such  complicated  woe? 

Unhappy  man,  alas !  I  would  have  held 

Some  converse  with  thee,  but  thy  looks  affright  me ; 

I  can  not  bear  to  speak  to  thee. 

(Edi.  O  me ! 

Where  am  I?  and  whence  comes  the  voice  I  hear? 

Where  art  thou,  Fortune  ? 


I 88  SOPHOCLES 

Chor.  Changed  to  misery, 

Dreadful  to  hear,  and  dreadful  to  behold. 

CEdi.  O  cruel  darkness !  endless,  hopeless  night, 
Shame,  terrors,  and  unutterable  woe ! 
More  painful  is  the  memory  of  my  crimes 
Than  all  the  wounds  my  wild  distraction  made. 

Chor.  Thus  doubly  cursed,  O  prince !  I  wonder  not 
At  thy  affliction. 

CEdi.  Art  thou  here,  my  friend  ? 

I  know  thy  voice  ;  thou  wouldst  not  leave  the  wretched  ; 
Thou  art  my  faithful,  kind  assistant  still. 

Chor.  How  couldst  thou  thus  deprive  thyself  of  sight? 
What  madness  drove  thee  to  the  desperate  deed  ? 
What  god  inspired  ? 

CEdi.  Apollo  was  the  cause  ; 

He  was,  my  friends,  the  cause  of  all  my  woes ; 
But  for  these  eyes — myself  did  quench  their  light — 
I  want  not  them ;  what  use  were  they  to  me, 
But  to  discover  scenes  of  endless  woe? 

Chor.     Tis  but  too  true. 

CEdi.  What  pleasure  now  remains 

For  CEdipus?     He  can  not  joy  in  aught 
To  sight  or  ear  delightful.     Curse  on  him, 
Whoe'er  he  was,  that  loosened  my  bound  feet, 
And  saved  me,  in  Cithaeron's  vale,  from  death ! 
I  owe  him  nothing :  had  I  perished  then, 
Much  happier  had  it  been  for  you,  my  friends, 
And  for  myself. 

Chor.  I  too  could  wish  thou  hadst. 

CEdi.  I  should  not  then  have  murdered  Laius ;  then 
I  had  not  ta'en  Jocasta  to  my  bed  ; 
But  now  I  am  a  guilty  wretch,  the  son 
Of  a  polluted  mother,  father  now 
To  my  own  brothers,  all  that's  horrible 
To  Nature  is  the  lot  of  CEdipus. 

Chor.     Yet  must  I  blame  this  cruel  act,  for  sure 
The  loss  of  sight  is  worse  than  death  itself. 


(EDIPUS   TYRANNUS  189 

(Edi.  I  care  not  for  thy  counsel  or  thy  praise ; 
For  with  what  eyes  could  I  have  e'er  beheld 
My  honoured  father  in  the  shades  below, 
Or  my  unhappy  mother,  both  destroyed 
By  me?     This  punishment  is  worse  than  death, 
And  so  it  should  be.     Sweet  had  been  the  sight 
Of  my  dear  children — them  I  could  have  wished 
To  gaze  upon  ;  but  I  must  never  see 
Or  them,  or  this  fair  city,  or  the  palace 
Where  I  was  born.     Deprived  of  every  bliss 
By  my  own  lips,  which  doomed  to  banishment 
The  murderer  of  Laius,  and  expelled 
The  impious  wretch,  by  gods  and  men  accursed: 
Could  I  behold  them  after  this  ?     Oh  no  ! 
Would  I  could  now  with  equal  ease  remove 
My  hearing  too,  be  deaf  as  well  as  blind, 
And  from  another  entrance  shut  out  woe ! 
To  want  our  senses,  in  the  hour  of  ill, 
Is  comfort  to  the  wretched.     O  Cithasron  ! 
Why  didst  thou  e'er  receive  me,  or  received, 
Why  not  destroy,  that  men  might  never  know 
Who  gave  me  birth  ?     O  Poly  bus !  O  Corinth  ! 
And  thou,  long  time  believed  my  father's  palace, 
Oh !  what  a  foul  disgrace  to  human  nature 
Didst  thou  receive  beneath  a  prince's  form  ! 
Impious  myself,  and  from  an  impious  race. 
Where  is  my  splendour  now  ?     O  Daulian  path  ! 
The  shady  forest,  and  the  narrow  pass 
Where  three  ways  meet,  who  drank  a  father's  blood 
Shed  by  these  hands,  do  you  not  still  remember 
The  horrid  deed,  and  what,  when  here  I  came, 
Followed  more  dreadful  ?     Fatal  nuptials,  you 
Produced  me,  you  returned  me  to  the  womb 
That  bare  me ;  thence  relations  horrible 
Of  fathers,  sons,  and  brothers  came  ;  of  wives, 
Sisters,  and  mothers,  sad  alliance !  all 
That  man  holds  impious  and  detestable. 


190 

But  what  in  act  is  vile  the  modest  tongue 

Should  never  name.     Bury  me,  hide  me,  friends, 

From  every  eye ;  destroy  me,  cast  me  forth 

To  the  wide  ocean — let  me  perish  there : 

Do  anything  to  shake  off  hated  life. 

Seize  me ;  approach,  my  friends — you  need  not  fear, 

Polluted  though  I  am,  to  touch  me  ;  none 

Shall  suffer  for  my  crimes  but  I  alone. 

Chor.  In  most  fit  time,  my  lord,  the  noble  Creon 
This  way  advances  ;  he  can  best  determine 
And  best  advise  ;  sole  guardian  now  of  Thebes, 
To  him  thy  power  devolves. 

(Edi.  What  shall  I  say  ? 

Can  I  apply  to  him  for  aid  whom  late 
I  deeply  injured  by  unjust  suspicion? 

CREON,  (EDIPUS,  CHORUS 

Creon.  I  come  not,  prince,  to  triumph  o'er  thy  woes 
With  vile  reproach  ;  I  pity  thy  misfortunes. 
But,  O  my  Thebans !  if  you  do  not  fear 
The  censure  of  your  fellow-citizens, 
At  least  respect  the  all-creating  eye 
Of  Phoebus,  who  beholds  you  thus  exposing 
To  public  view  a  wretch  accursed,  polluted, 
Whom  neither  earth  can  bear,  nor  sun  behold, 
Nor  holy  shower  besprinkle.     Take  him  hence 
Within  the  palace  ;  those  who  are  by  blood 
United  should  alone  be  witnesses 
Of  such  calamity. 

(Kdi.  O  Creon  !  thou, 

The  best  of  men,  and  I  the  worst,  how  kind 
Thou  art  to  visit  me  !     Oh  !  by  the  gods 
Let  me  entreat  thee,  since  beyond  my  hopes 
Thou  art  so  good,  now  hear  me ;  what  I  ask, 
Concerns  thee  most. 

Creon.  What  is  it  thou  desirest 

Thus  ardently  ? 


CEDIPUS   TYRANNUS  19! 

CEdi.  I  beg  thee,  banish  me 

From  Thebes  this  moment,  to  some  land  remote, 
Where  I  may  ne'er  converse  with  man  again. 

Creon.  Myself  long  since  had  done  it,  but  the  gods 
Must  be  consulted  first. 

CEdi.  Their  will  is  known 

Already,  and  their  oracle  declared 
The  guilty  parricide  should  die. 

Creon,  It  hath ; 

But,  as  it  is,  'twere  better  to  inquire 
What  must  be  done. 

CEdi.  For  such  a  wretch  as  me 

Wouldst  thou  again  explore  the  will  of  Heaven  ? 

Creon.  Thy  hapless  fate  should  teach  us  to  believe, 
And  reverence  the  gods. 

CEdi.  Now,  Creon,  list ; 

I  beg  thee,  I  conjure  thee,  let  a  tomb 
Be  raised,  and  all  due  honours  paid  to  her 
Who  lies  within  :  she  was  thy  sister,  Creon  ; 
It  is  a  duty  which  thou  ow'st:  for  me, 
I  can  not  hope  this  city  now  will  deign 
To  keep  me  here.     O  Creon  !  let  me  go, 
And  seek  the  solitary  mountain's  top, 
My  own  Cithseron,  by  my  parents  doomed 
Long  since  to  be  the  grave  of  CEdipus ; 
Where  would  I  die,  as  they  decreed  I  should. 
Alas !  I  can  not,  must  not  perish  yet, 
Till  I  have  suffered  evils  worse  than  death, 
For  I  was  only  saved  to  be  unhappy ; 
But  I  must  meet  my  fate,  whate'er  it  be. 
My  sons  are  men,  and  wheresoever  fortune 
May  place  them,  can  not  want  the  means  of  life ; 
They  shall  not  burden  thee ;  but  O  my  friend  ! 
What  will  become  of  my  unhappy  daughters, 
With  tenderest  love,  beneath  a  father's  hand, 
Cherished  so  long?     Oh  !  take  them  to  thy  care, 
Thou  best  of  men  !     Oh  !  might  I  but  embrace  them, 


192  SOPHOCLES 

But  shed  a  tear  o'er  their  disastrous  fate, 
Might  I  be  suffered  but  to  touch  them  here, 
I  should  rejoice,  and  think  I  saw  them  still. 
But  hark!  methinks  e'en  now  I  hear  the  voice 
Of  my  dear  daughters ;  hath  the  gracious  Creon, 
In  pity  to  my  woes,  already  brought 
My  children  to  me  ? — is  it  so  ? 

Creon.  It  is : 

Thy  wishes  are  prevented  ;  they  are  here. 

DAUGHTERS  OF  GEDIPUS,  CEDIPUS,  CREON,  CHORUS 

(Edi.  May  Heaven  reward  thee  for  this  goodness  to 

me, 

And  give  thee  much  more  bliss  than  I  have  known  ! 
Now,  my  dear  children,  come  toward  me,  come 
Toward  your  father  and  your — brother  ;  see 
These  sightless  eyes,  pierced  by  my  own  mad  hands  ; 
Behold  that  wretched  father  who  begat  you 
Unknowingly  on  her  who  gave  me  birth  ; 
I  can  not  see  you  now — I  can  but  weep 
Your  fate,  to  think  what  hours  of  wretchedness 
You  have  to  know  hereafter.     Whither  now 
Must  my  poor  children  fly  ?     From  every  feast 
Joyless  with  grief  and  shame,  shall  you  return  ; 
And  when  the  time  shall  come  when  riper  years 
Should  give  you  to  the  nuptial  bed,  who  then, 
Careless  of  fame,  will  let  his  child  partake 
The  infamy  of  my  abhorred  race, 

Sprung  from  a  wretch  accursed,  who  killed  his  father, 
And  from  the  womb  that  bare  him  did  beget 
You,  my  unhappy  daughters?     Such  reproach 
Must  still  be  yours,  to  virgin  solitude 
Devoted  ever,  and  a  barren  bed. 
Son  of  Menceceus,  thou  alone  art  left 
Their  father  now,  for,  oh  !  Jocasta's  dead, 
And  I  am — nothing.     Do  not  then  forsake 
Thy  kindred  ;  nor,  deserted  and  forlorn, 


(EDIPUS   TYRANNUS  193 

Suffer  them  still  in  penury  and  woe 

To  wander  helpless,  in  their  tender  age  : 

Remember  they  have  no  support  but  thee. 

0  generous  prince  !  have  pity  on  them  ;  give  me 
Thy  friendly  hand  in  promise  of  thy  aid. 

To  you,  my  daughters,  had  your  early  years 

Permitted,  I  had  given  my  last  advice  ; 

Too  young  for  counsel,  all  I  ask  of  you 

Is  but  to  pray  the  gods  that  my  sad  life 

May  not  be  long ;  but  yours,  my  children,  crowned 

With  many  days,  and  happier  far  than  mine. 

Creon.  It  is  enough  ;  go  in — thy  grief  transports  thee 
Beyond  all  bounds. 

CEdi.  Tis  hard  ;  but  I  submit. 

Creon.  The  time  demands  it ;  therefore  go. 

(Edi.  O  Creon ! 

Knowst  thou  what  now  I  wish  ? 

Creon.  What  is  it  ?     Speak. 

(Edi.  That  I  may  quit  this  fatal  place. 

Creon.  Thou  ask'st 

What  Heaven  alone  can  grant. 

(Edi.  Alas  !  to  Heaven 

1  am  most  hateful. 

Creon.  Yet  shalt  thou  obtain 

What  thou  desirest. 

(Edi.  Shall  I  indeed  ? 

Creon.  Thou  shalt ; 

I  never  say  aught  that  I  do  not  mean. 

(Edi.  Then  let  me  go :  may  I  depart  ? 

Creon.  Thou  mayst ; 

But  leave  thy  children. 

(Edi.  Do  not  take  them  from  me  ! 

Creon.  Thou  must  not  always  have  thy  will.     Already 
Thou'st  suffered  for  it. 

Chor.  Thebans,  now  behold 

The  great,  the  mighty  QEdipus,  who  once 
The  Sphinx's  dark  enigma  could  unfold, 
13 


I94  SOPHOCLES 

Who  less  to  fortune  than  to  wisdom  owed, 

In  virtue  as  in  rank  to  all  superior, 

Yet  fallen  at  last  to  deepest  misery. 

Let  mortals  hence  be  taught  to  look  beyond 

The  present  time,  nor  dare  to  say,  a  man 

Is  happy  till  the  last  decisive  hour 

Shall  close  his  life  without  the  taste  of  woe. 


THE  ALCESTIS  OF  EURIPIDES 


TRANSLATED    BY 

ARTHUR   S.   WAY 


EURIPIDES,  the  son  of  Mnesarchides  and  Cleito,  was  born,  480  B.  c.,  in 
Salamis,  whither  the  Athenians  had  fled  before  the  invading  army  of  the 
Persians — tradition  says  upon  the  eve  of  the  great  battle  that  turned  the 
tide  in  favour  of  Grecian  liberty.  The  wealthy  father — Aristophanes 
scores  him  for  having  made  his  money  in  trade — intended  to  train  his 
son  for  the  great  national  games,  but  Euripides  soon  put  athletics  aside 
for  painting,  and  that  again  for  literature.  He  took  no  part  in  public 
life — as  did  both  ^Eschylus  and  Sophocles — was  scholarly  and  almost  :i 
recluse,  the  friend  of  Socrates,  and  pupil  of  Prodicus,  Protagoras,  and 
Anaxagoras,  and  was  the  first  Athenian  to  own  a  considerable  private 
library.  He  married  twice,  both  times  unhappily,  and  left  two  sons. 
He  is  said  to  have  been  a  bitter  woman-hater  in  his  old  age.  He  pro- 
duced his  first  play  in  455  n.  c.,  at  which  time  ^Eschylus  was  dead,  Sopho- 
cles had  been  before  the  public  thirteen  years,  and  Aristophanes,  to  be 
his  greatest  enemy,  had  not  come  into  the  world.  But  it  was  441 
before  he  was  awarded  a  first  prize  in  the  contest.  He  received  first  prize 
only  five  times.  He  wrote  ninety-two  plays,  eighteen  of  which  have 
survived:  "Alcestis,"  "Medea,"  "  Hippolytus,"  "Hecuba,"  "Ion." 
"Suppliants,"  "Andromache,"  "  Heraclidae,"  "Troades,"  "  Ele<  ' 
"Helena,"  "Hercules  Furens,"  "  Phoenissze,"  "Orestes,"  "  Iphigeneia 
in  Aulis,"  "Iphigeneia  in  Taurus,"  "  Baccha-,"  "Cyclops,"  a  satyr- 
drama,  and  the  doubtful  play  "  Rhesus."  Euripides  was  the  most  human 
of  the  three  great  tragedians,  and  perhaps  he  makes  up  in  this  what  he 
may  lose  in  comparison  with  vEschylus  and  Sophocles  on  the  score  of 
grandeur.  He  was  very  popular  during  his  life,  and  at  his  death,  which 
occurred  in  406  B.  c.,  at  the  court  of  the  great  literary  patron,  Archelaus 
of  Macedonia,  Sophocles  and  all  Athens  put  on  mourning  for  him,  and 
the  "  Baccha?, "  "Iphigeneia  in  Aulis,"  and  perhaps  "Iphigeneia  in 
Taurus,"  were  magnificently  played  at  the  theatre.  He  was  Arist- 
favourite  author,  and  has  held  a  high  place  in  the  esteem  of  many  an- 
cient and  modern  writers. 


APOLLO,  being  banished  for  a  season  from  Olympus,  and 
condemned  to  do  service  to  a  mortal,  became  herdsman  of 
Admetus,  King  of  Pherse  in  Thessaly.  Yet  he  loathed  not  his 
earthly  taskmaster,  but  loved  him,  for  that  he  was  a  just  man, 
and  hospitable  exceedingly.  Wherefore  he  obtained  from  the 
Fates  this  boon  for  Admetus,  that,  when  his  hour  of  death 
should  come,  they  should  accept  in  ransom  for  his  life  the  life 
of  whosoever  should  have  before  consented  to  die  in  his  stead. 
Now  when  this  was  made  known,  none  of  them  who  were 
nearest  by  blood  to  the  king  would  promise  to  be  his  ransom 
in  that  day.  Then  Alcestis  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  Pelias, 
King  of  lolkos,  pledged  her  to  die  for  him.  Of  her  love  she 
did  it,  and  for  the  honour  of  wifehood.  And  the  years  passed 
by,  and  the  tale  was  told  in  many  lands;  and  all  men  praised 
Alcestis,  but  Admetus  bore  a  burden  of  sorrow,  for  day  by  day 
she  became  dearer  to  him,  a  wife  wholly  true,  a  mother  most 
loving,  and  a  lady  to  her  thralls  gentle  exceedingly.  But 
when  it  was  known  by  tokens  that  the  day  was  come,  Admetus 
repented  him  sorely,  but  it  availed  not,  for  no  mortal  may 
recall  a  pledge  once  given  to  the  gods.  And  on  that  day  there 
came  to  the  palace  Apollo  to  plead  with  Death  for  Alcestis's 
sake;  and  a  company  of  elders  of  Pherae,  to  ask  of  her  state 
and  to  make  mourning  for  her.  And  when  she  was  dead,  ere 
she  was  borne  forth  to  burial,  came  Herakles,  son  of  Zeus,  in 
his  journeying,  seeking  the  guest's  right  of  meat  and  lodging, 
but  not  knowing  aught  of  that  which  had  come  to  pass.  Of 
him  was  a  great  deliverance  wrought,  which  is  told  herein. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS 


APOLLO. 

DEATH. 

CHORUS,  composed  of  Elders  of  Pherse. 

HANDMAID. 

ALCESTIS,  Daughter  of  Pelias,  and  Wife  of  Admetus. 

ADMETUS,  King  of  Pherae. 

EUMELUS,  Son  of  Admetus  and  Alcestis. 

HERAKLE& 

PIIERES,  Father  of  Admetus. 

SERVANT,  Steward  of  the  Palace. 

Guards,  Attendants,  Handmaids,  and  Mourners. 

The  scene  throughout  is  in  front  of  the  palace  of 
Admetus  at  Pherae. 


ALCESTIS 


Enter  APOLLO 

AOLLO.  Halls  of  Admetus,  where  I  stooped  my  pride 
To  brook  the  fare  of  serfs,  yea  I,  a  god — 
The  fault  was  fault  of  Zeus :  he  slew  my  son 
Asklepius — hurled  the  levin  through  his  heart. 
Wroth  for  the  dead,  his  smiths  of  heavenly  fire 
I  slew,  the  Cyclopes ;  and,  for  blood-atonement, 
Serf  to  a  mortal  man  my  father  made  me. 
To  this  land  came  I,  tended  mine  host's  kine, 
And  warded  still  his  house  unto  this  day. 
Righteous  myself,  I  lighted  on  the  righteous, 
The  son  of  Pheres :  him  I  snatched  from  death, 
Cozening  the  Fates :  to  me  the  Sisters  pledged  them 
That  imminent  death  Admetus  should  escape 
If  he  for  ransom  'gave  another  life. 
To  all  he  went — all  near  and  dear — and  asked 
Gray  sire,  the  mother  that  had  given  him  life ; 
But,  save  his  wife,  found  none  that  would  consent 
For  him  to  die  and  never  more  see  light. 
Now  in  his  arms  upborne  within  yon  home 
She  gaspeth  forth  her  life :  for  on  this  day 
Her  weird  it  is  to  die  and  part  from  life. 
I,  lest  pollution  taint  me  in  their  house, 
Go  forth  of  yonder  hall's  beloved  roof.         [Enter  DEATH. 
Lo,  yonder  Death ! — I  see  him  nigh  at  hand, 

199 


200  EURIPIDES 

Priest  of  the  dead,  who  comes  to  hale  her  down 
To  Hades'  halls — well  hath  he  kept  his  time, 
Watching  this  day,  whereon  she  needs  must  die. 

Death.  Ha,  thou  at  the  palace ! — Wilt  not  make  room, 

Phcebus? — thou  wrestest  the  right  yet  again. 
Thou  removest  the  landmarks  of  gods  of  gloom. 

And  thou  makest  their  honours  vain. 
Did  this  not  suffice  thee,  to  thwart  that  doom 

Of  Admetus,  when,  all  by  thy  cunning  beguiled 
Were  the  Fates,  that  thou  now  must  be  warding  the  wife 
With  thine  hand  made  ready  the  bowstring  to  strain, 
Though  she  pledged  her  from  death  to  redeem  with  her 
life 

Her  lord — she,  Pelias'  child  ? 

Apollo.  Fear  not :  fair  words  and  justice  are  with  me. 
Death.  Justice  with  thee!  what  needeth  then  the  bow? 
Apollo.  This? — 'tis  my  wont  to  bear  it  evermore. 
Death.  Yea,  and  to  aid  yon  house  in  lawless  wise. 
Apollo.  Mine  heart  is  heavy  for  my  friend's  mischance. 
Death.   What,  wilt    thou   wrest    from  me  this  second 

corpse  ? 

Apollo.  Nay,  not  that  other  did  I  take  by  force. 
Death.  Not? — why  on  earth  then? — why  not   under- 
ground ? 

Apollo.  She  was  his  ransom,  she  for  whom  thou  comest. 
Death.  Yea,  and  will  hale  her  deep  beneath  the  earth. 
Apollo.  Take  her  and  go  :  I  trow  I  shall  not  bend  thee — 
Death.  To  slay  the  victim  due? — mine  office  this. 
Apollo.  Nay,  but  to  smite  with  death  the  ripe  for  death. 
Death.  Ay,  I  discern  thy  plea — thy  zeal,  good  sooth ! 
Apollo.  And  may  Alcestis  never  see  old  age  ? 
Death.  Never: — should  I  not  love  mine  honours  too? 
Apollo.  Tis  soon  or  late — thou  canst  but  take  one  life. 
Death.  Yet    mine    the   goodlier   prize    when    die    the 

young. 

Apollo.  Think — royal  obsequies  if  old  she  die! 
Death.   I,o,  Phoebus  making  laws  to  shield  the  rich! 


ALCESTIS  201 

Apollo.  How  sayst  thou  ? — thou  a  sophist  unawares ! 

Death.  Would  wealth    not   buy  the    boon    of    dying 
old? 

Apollo.  So  then  thou  wilt  not  grant  this  grace  to  me  ? 

Death.  Nay  surely — dost  not  know  my  wonted  way  ? 

Apollo.  Hateful  to  mortals  this,  and  loathed  of  gods. 

Death.  All  things  beyond  thy  rights  thou  canst  not 
have. 

Apollo.  Surely  thou  shalt  forbear,  though  ruthless  thou, 
So  mighty  a  man  to  Pheres'  halls  shall  come, 
Sent  of  Eurystheus  forth,  the  courser-car 
From  winter-dreary  lands  of  Thrace  to  bring. 
Guest-welcomed  in  Admetus'  palace  here, 
By  force  yon  woman  shall  he  wrest  from  thee. 
Yea,  thou  of  me  shalt  have  no  thank  for  this, 
And  yet  shalt  do  it,  and  shalt  have  mine  hate. 

\Exit  APOLLO. 

Death.  Talk  on,  talk  on  :  no  profit  shalt  thou  win. 
This  woman  down  to  Hades'  halls  shall  pass. 
For  her  I  go :  my  sword  shall  seal  her  ours  : 
For  sacred  to  the  nether  gods  is  he, 
He  from  whose  head  this  sword  hath  shorn  the  hair. 

\Exit  DEATH. 

Enter  CHORUS,  dividing  to  right  and  left,  so  that  the 

sections  answer  one  another 
Half-Chorus  i.  What  meaneth  this  hush  afront  of  the 

hall? 
The  home  of  Admetus,  why  voiceless  all? 

Half-Chorus  2.   No  friend  of  the  house  who  should 

speak  of  its  plight 

Is  nigh,  who  should  bid  that  we  raise  the  keen 
For  the  dead,  or  should  tell  us  that  yet  on  the  light 
Alcestis  looketh,  and  liveth  the  queen, 
The  daughter  of  Pelias,  the  noblest,  I  ween, 

Yea,  in  all  men's  sight 
The  noblest  of  women  on  earth  that  have  been. 

8 


202  EURIPIDES 

Strophe  I 

Half-Chorus  i.  Or  hearest  thou  mourning  or  sighing 

Or  beating  of  hands, 
Or  the  wail  of  bereaved  ones  outcrying  ? 

No  handmaid  stands 
At  the  palace-gate. 

O  Healer,  appear  for  the  dying,  appear  as  a  bright  bird 
flying 

'Twixt  the  surges  of  fate  ! 
Half-Chorus  2,  Ah,  they  would  not  be  hushed,  had  the 

life  of  her  flown  ! 
Half-Chorus  i.  Not  forth  of  the  door  is  the  death-train 

gone. 
Half-Chorus  2.  Whence   cometh  thine  hope,  which    I 

boast  not  mine  own  ? 

Half-Chorus  i.  Would  the  king  without  pomp  of  pro- 
cession have  yielded  the  grave  the  possession 
Of  so  dear,  of  so  faithful  a  one  ? 

AntistropJie  i 

Half-Chorus  2.  Nor  the  cup  in  the  gateway  appeareth, 

From  the  spring  that  they  bear 
To  the  gate  that  pollution  feareth, 

Nor  the  severed  hair 
In  the  porch  for  the  dead, 

Which  the  mourner  in  bitterness  sheareth,  neither  beating 
of  hands  one  heareth 

On  maiden's  head. 

Half -Chorus  i.  Yet  surely  is  this  the  appointed  day — 
Half-Chorus  2.  Ah  !  what  wilt  thou  say  ? 
Half-Chorus  i.  Whereon  of  her  doom  she  must  pass  to 

the  tomb. 
Half-Chorus  2.  With    a   keen   pang's  smart  hast  thou 

stabbed  mine  heart. 

Half-CJiorus  i.  It  is  meet,  when  the  good  are  as  flowers 
plucked  away, 


ALCESTIS 


203 


That  in  sorrow's  gloom 
Should  the  breast  of  the  old  tried  friend  have  part. 

CHORUS.    Strophe  2 
Though  ye  voyage  all  seas, 
Ye  shall  light  on  no  lands, 
Nor  on  Lycia's  leas, 

Nor  Ammonian  sands, 

Whence  redemption  shall  come  for  the  wretched,  or  loos- 
ing of  Death's  dread  bands. 

Doom's  imminent  slope 

Is  a  precipice-steep. 
In  no  god  is  there  hope, 

Though  his  altars  should  weep 

With  the  crimson  atonement,  should  veil  them  in  clouds 
of  the  hecatomb-sheep. 

Antistrophe  2 
Ah,  once  there  was  one  ! — 

Were  life's  light  in  the  eyes 
Of  Phcebus's  son, 

Then  our  darling  might  rise 

From  the  mansions  of  darkness,  through  portals  of  Hades 
return  to  our  skies  ; 

For  he  raised  up  the  dead, 

Ere  flashed  from  the  heaven, 
From  Zeus'  hand  sped, 

That  bolt  of  the  levin. 

But  now  what  remaineth  to  wait  for? — what  hope  of  her 
life  is  given  ? 

No  sacrifice  more 

Unrendered  remaineth : 
No  god,  but  the  gore 

From  his  altars  down-raineth  : 


204  EURiriUKS 

Yet  healing  is  none  for  our  ills,  neither  balm  that  the 
spirit  sustaineth. 

Enter  HANDMAID 

But  hither  cometh  of  the  handmaids  one, 
Weeping  the  while.     What  tidings  shall  I  hear? 
To  grieve  at  all  mischance  unto  thy  lords 
May  be  forgiven  ;  but  if  thy  lady  lives 
Or  even  now  hath  passed,  fain  would  we  know. 
Handmaid.  She  liveth,  and  is  dead  :  both  mayst  thou  say. 
Chorus.  Ay  so  ? — how  should  the  same  be  dead  and  live? 
Handmaid.  Even  now  she  droopeth,  gasping  out  her 

life. 

Chorus.  Noble  and  stricken — how  noble  she  thou  losest! 
Handmaid.  His  depth  of  loss  he  knows  not  ere  it  come. 
Chorus.  And  hope — is  no  hope  left  her  life  to  save  ? 
Handmaid.  None — for  the  day  foredoomed  constrain- 

eth  her. 

Chorus.  Are  all  things  meet,  then,  being  done  for  her? 
Handmaid.  Yea,  ready  is  her  burial-attire. 
Chorus.  Let  her  be  sure  that  glorious  she  dies 
And  noblest  woman  'neath  the  sun's  wide  way. 

Handmaid.  Noblest  ? — how    not  ? — what    tongue    will 

dare  gainsay  ? 

What  must  the  woman  be  who  passeth  her? 
How  could  a  wife  give  honour  to  her  lord 
More  than  by  yielding  her  to  die  for  him? 
And  this — yea,  all  the  city  knoweth  this. 
But  what  within  she  did,  hear  thou,  and  marvel. 
For  when  she  knew  that  the  appointed  day 
Was  come,  in  river-water  her  white  skin 
She  bathed,  and  from  the  cedar-chests  took  forth 
Vesture  and  jewels,  and  decked  her  gloriously, 
And  stood  before  the  hearth,  and  prayed,  and  said : 
"  Queen,  for  I  pass  beneath  the  earth,  I  fall 
Before  thee  now,  and  nevermore,  and  pray : — 
Be  mother  to  my  orphans :  mate  with  him 


ALCESTIS 


205 


A  loving  wife,  with  her  a  noble  husband. 

Nor,  as  their  mother  dieth,  so  may  they, 

My  children,  die  untimely,  but  with  weal 

In  the  home-land  fill  up  a  life  of  bliss." 

To  all  the  altars  through  Admetus'  halls 

She  went,  with  wreaths  she  hung  them,  and  she  prayed, 

Plucking  the  while  the  tresses  of  the  myrtle, 

Tearless,  unsighing,  and  the  imminent  fate 

Changed  not  the  lovely  rose-tint  of  her  cheek. 

Then  to  her  bower  she  rushed,  fell  on  the  bed  ; 

And  there,  oh,  there  she  wept,  and  thus  she  speaks : 

"  O  couch,  whereon  I  loosed  the  maiden  zone 
For  this  man,  for  whose  sake  I  die  to-day, 
Farewell :  I  hate  thee  not.     Me  hast  thou  lost, 
Me  only :  loath  to  fail  thee  and  my  lord 
I  die :  but  thee  another  bride  shall  own, 
Not  more  true-hearted  ;  happier  perchance." 
Then  falls  thereon,  and  kisses :  all  the  bed 
Is  watered  with  the  flood  of  melting  eyes. 
But  having  wept  her  fill  of  many  tears, 
Drooping  she  goeth,  reeling  from  the  couch ; 
Yet  oft,  as  forth  the  bower  she  passed,  returned, 
And  flung  herself  again  upon  the  couch. 
And  the  babes,  clinging  to  their  mother's  robes, 
Were  weeping :  and  she  clasped  them  in  her  arms, 
Fondling  now  this,  now  that,  as  one  death-doomed. 
And  all  the  servants  'neath  the  roof  were  weeping, 
Pitying  their  lady.     But  to  each  she  stretched 
Her  right  hand  forth  ;  and  none  there  was  so  mean 
To  whom  she  spake  not  and  received  reply. 
Such  are  the  ills  Admetus'  home  within. 
Now,  had  he  died,  he  had  ended  :  but  in  'scaping, 
He  bears  a  pain  that  he  shall  ne'er  forget. 

Chorus.  Doth  not  Admetus  groan  for  this  affliction 
Of  such  a  noble  wife  to  be  bereft  ? 

Handmaid.  Ay,  weeps,  and  clasps  his  dear  one  in  his 
arms, 


206  EURIPIDES 

And  prays,  "  Forsake  me  not !  " — asking  the  while 

The  impossible,  for  still  she  wanes  and  wastes, 

Drooping  her  hand,  a  misery-burdened  weight. 

But  yet,  albeit  hardly  breathing  now, 

To  the  sun's  rays  fain  would  she  lift  her  eyes, 

As  never  more,  but  for  the  last  time  then 

Destined  to  see  the  sun's  beam  and  his  orb. 

But  I  will  go  and  make  thy  presence  known : 

For  'tis  not  all  that  love  so  well  their  kings 

As  to  stand  by  them,  in  afflictions  loyal. 

But  from  of  old  my  lords  were  loved  of  thee.  [Exit. 

Nine  members  of  the  CHORUS  chant  successively: 
Chorus  i.  O  Zeus,  for  our  lords  is  there  naught  but 

despair? 
No  path  through  the  tangle  of  evils,  no  loosing  of  chains 

that  have  bound  them  ? 

Chorus  2.  No  tidings  ? — remaineth  but  rending  of  hair, 
And  the  stricken  ones  turned  to  the  tomb  with  the  gar- 
ments of  sorrow  around  them  ? 

Chorus  j.  Even  so — even  so !  yet  uplift  we  in  prayer 
Our  hands   to  the   gods,  for  that  power  from  the  days 

everlasting  hath  crowned  them. 
Chorus  4..  O  Healer-king, 
Find  thou  for  Admetus  the  balm  of  relief,  for  the  captive 

deliverance ! 

Chorus  5.  Vouchsafe  it,  vouchsafe  it,  for  heretofore 
Hast  thou  found  out  a  way  ;  even  now  once  more 
Pluck  back  our  beloved  from  Hades'  door, 
Strike  down  Death's  hand  red-reeking  with  gore ! 
Chorus  6.  Woe's  me !   woe's  me ! — let   the   woe-dirge 

ring! 

Ah,  scion  of  Pheres,  alas  for  thy  lot,  for  love's  long  sev- 
erance ! 
Chorus  7.  For  such  things  on  his  sword  might  a  man 

not  fall, 

Or  knit  up  his  throat  in  the  noose  'twixt  the  heaven  and 
the  earth  that  quivereth  ? 


ALCESTIS  207 

Chorus  8.  For  his  dear  one— nay,  but  his  dearest  of  all 
Shall  he  see  on  this  day  lying  dead,  while  her  spirit  by 

Lethe  shivereth. 

Chorus  9.  O  look  !  look  yonder,  where  forth  of  the  hall 
She  cometh,  and  he  at  her  side  whose  life  by  her  life  she 
delivereth. 

CHORUS,  UNITED 

Cry,  land  Pheraian,  shrill  the  keen ! 

Lift  up  thy  voice  to  wail  thy  best 

There  dying,  and  thy  queenliest 
Slow  wasting  to  the  gates  unseen  ! 

Tell  me  not  this,  that  wedlock  brings 
To  them  that  wed  more  bliss  than  woe. 
I  look  back  to  the  long-ago ; 

I  muse  on  these  unhappiest  things. 

Lo,  here  a  king — he  forfeiteth 

The  truest  heart,  the  noblest  wife : 

And  what  shall  be  henceforth  his  life  ?     , 

A  darkened  day,  a  living  death. 

Enter   FEMALE    ATTENDANTS    bearing   ALCESTIS,    accom- 
panied by  ADMETUS  and  CHILDREN 

Alcestis.  O  Sun,  and  the  day's  dear  light, 
And  ye  clouds  through  the  wheeling  heaven  in  the  race 

everlasting  flying ! 

Admetus.  He  seeth  thee  and  me,  two  stricken  ones, 
Who  wrought  the  gods  no  wrong,  that  thou  shouldst  die. 

Alcestis.  O  land,  O  stately  height 

Of  mine  halls,  and  my  bridal  couch  in  lolkos,  my  father- 
land, lying ! 

Admetus.  Uplift  thee,  hapless  love,  forsake  me  not, 
And  pray  the  mighty  gods  in  ruth  to  turn. 

Alcestis.  I  see  the  boat  with  the  oars  twin-sweeping, 
And,  his  hand  on  the  pole  as  in  haste  aye  keeping, 


208  EURIPIDES 

Charon  the  ferryman  calleth,  "  What  ho,  wilt  thou  linger 
and  linger? 

Hasten — 'tis  thou  dost  delay  me ! "  he  crieth  with  beckon- 
ing finger. 
Admetus.  Ah  me !  a  bitter  ferrying  this  thou  namest ! 

0  evil-starred,  what  woes  endure  we  now ! 

Alcestis.  One  haleth  me — haleth  me  hence  to  the  mansion 

Of  the  dead  !  dost  thou  mark  not  the  darkling  expansion 

Of  the  pinions  of  Hades,  the  blaze  of  his  eyes  'neath  their 

caverns  out-glaring  ? 
What  wouldst  thou  ? — Unhand  me  ! — In  anguish  and  pain 

by  what  path  am  I  faring ! 

Admetus.  Woeful  to  them  that  love  thee :  most  to  me 
And  to  thy  babes,  sad  sharers  in  this  grief. 

Alcestis.  Let  be — let  me  sink  back  to  rest  me : 
There  is  no  strength  left  in  my  feet. 
Hades  is  near,  and  the  night 
Is  darkening  down  on  my  sight. 
Darlings,  farewell :  on  the  lig*ht 
Long  may  ye  look  : — I  have  blessed  ye 
Ere  your  mother  to  nothingness  fleet. 
Admetus.  Ah  me  !  for  thy  word  rusheth  bitterness  o'er  me, 

Bitterness  passing  the  anguish  of  death  ! 
Forsake  me  not  now,  by  the  gods  I  implore  thee, 

By  the  babes  thou  wilt  orphan,  O  yield  not  thy  breath ! 
Look  up,  be  of  cheer :  if  thou  diest,  before  me 
Is  nothingness.     Living,  we  aye  live  thine, 
And  we  die  unto  thee ;  for  our  hearts  are  a  shrine 
Wherein  for  thy  love  passing  word  we  adore  thee  ! 

Alcestis.  Admetus — for  thou  seest  all  my  plight — 
Fain  would  I  speak  mine  heart's  wish  ere  I  die. 
I,  honouring  thee,  and  setting  thee  in  place 
Before  mine  own  soul  still  to  see  this  light, 
Am  dying,  unconstrained  to  die  for  thee. 

1  might  have  wed  what  man  Thessalian 

I  would,  have  dwelt  wealth-crowned  in  princely  halls  ; 
Yet  would  not  live  on,  torn  away  from  thee, 


ALCESTIS  209 

With  orphaned  children  :  wherefore  spared  I  not 

The  gifts  of  youth  still  mine,  wherein  I  joyed. 

Yet  she  that  bare,  he  that  begat,  forsook  thee, 

Though  fair  for  death  their  time  of  life  was  come, 

Yea,  fair,  to  save  their  son  and  die  renowned. 

Their  only  one  wert  thou  :  no  hope  there  was 

To  get  them  sons  thereafter,  hadst  thou  died. 

So  had  I  lived,  and  thou,  to  after  days : 

Thou  wert  not  groaning,  of  thy  wife  bereaved, 

Thy  children  motherless.     Howbeit  this 

Some  god  hath  brought  to  pass  :  it  was  to  be. 

Let  be  : — remember  thou  what  thank  is  due 

For  this :  I  never  can  ask  full  requital ; 

For  naught  there  is  more  precious  than  the  life — 

Yet  justly  due  :  for  these  thy  babes  thou  lovest 

No  less  than  I,  if  that  thine  heart  be,  right. 

Suffer  that  they  have  lordship  in  mine  home : 

Wed  not  a  stepdame  to  supplant  our  babes, 

Whose  heart  shall  tell  her  she  is  no  Alcestis, 

Whose  jealous  hand  shall  smite  them,  thine  and  mine. 

Do  not,  ah !  do  not  this — I  pray  thee,  I. 

For  the  new  stepdame  hateth  still  the  babes 

Of  her  that's  gone  with  more  than  viper-venom. 

The  boy — his  father  is  his  tower  of  strength 

To  whom  to  speak,  of  whom  to  win  reply  : 

But,  O  my  child,  what  girlhood  will  be  thine  ? 

To  thee  what  would  she  be,  thy  father's  yoke-mate? 

What  if  with  ill  report  she  smirched  thy  name, 

And  in  thy  youth's  flower  marred  thy  marriage-hopes . 

For  thee  thy  mother  ne'er  shall  deck  for  bridal, 

Nor  hearten  thee  in  travail,  O  my  child, 

There,  where  naught  gentler  than  the  mother  is. 

For  I  must  die,  nor  shall  it  be  to-morn, 

Nor  on  the  third  day  comes  on  me  this  bane: 

Straightway  of  them  that  are  not  shall  I  be. 

Farewell,  be  happy.     Now  for  thee,  my  lord, 

Abides  the  boast  to  have  won  the  noblest  wife, 


210  EURIPIDES 

For  you,  my  babes,  to  have  sprung-  from  noblest  mother. 

Chorus.  Fear  not ;  for  I  am  bold  to  speak  for  him 
This  will  he  do,  an  if  he  be  not  mad. 

Admctus.  It  shall,  it  shall  be,  dread  not  thou  :  for  thee 
Living  I  had  ;  and  dead,  mine  only  wife 
Shalt  thou  be  called  :  nor  ever  in  thy  stead 
Shall  bride  Thessalian  hail  me  as  her  lord. 
None  is  there  of  a  father  so  high-born, 
None  so  for  beauty  peerless  among  women. 
Children  enough  have  I :  I  pray  the  gods 
For  joy  in  these — our  joy  in  thee  is  naught. 
Not  for  a  year's  space  will  I  mourn  for  thee, 
But  long  as  this  my  life  shall  last,  dear  wife, 
Loathing  my  mother,  hating  mine  own  sire, 
For  in  word  only,  not  in  deed,  they  loved  me. 
Thou  gav'st  in  ransom  for  my  life  thine  all 
Of  precious,  and  didst  save.     Do  I  not  well 
To  groan,  who  lose  such  yokefellow  in  thee  ? 
Revels  shall  cease,  and  gatherings  at  the  wine, 
Garlands,  and  song,  which  wont  to  fill  mine  house. 
For  never  more  mine  hand  shall  touch  the  lyre  : 
Nor  will  I  lift  up  heart  to  sing  to  flute 
Of  Libya :  thou  hast  robbed  my  life  of  mirth. 
And,  wrought  by  craftsmen's  cunning  hands,  thy  form 
Imaged,  upon  a  couch  outstretched  shall  lie, 
Falling  whereon,  and  clasping  with  mine  hands, 
Calling  thy  name,  in  fancy  shall  mine  arms 
Hold  my  beloved,  though  I  hold  her  not — 
A  chill  delight,  I  wot— yet  shall  I  lift 
The  burden  from  my  soul.     In  dreams  shalt  thou 
Haunt  me  and  gladden  :  sweet  to  see  the  loved, 
Though  but  a  fleeting  presence  night-revealed. 
But,  were  the  tongue  and  strain  of  Orpheus  mine, 
To  witch  Demeter's  daughter  and  her  lord, 
And  out  of  Hades  by  my  song  to  win  thee, 
I  had  fared  clown:  nor  Pluto's  hound  had  stayed  me, 
Nor  spirit-wafter  Charon  at  the  oar, 


ALCESTIS  211 

Or  ever  I  restored  thy  life  to  light. 

Yet  there  look  thou  for  me,  whenso  I  die; 

Prepare  a  home,  as  who  shall  dwell  with  me. 

For  in  the  selfsame  cedar  chest,  wherein 

Thou  liest,  will  I  bid  them  lay  my  bones 

Outstretched  beside  thee :  ne'er  may  I  be  severed, 

No,  not  in  death,  from  thee,  my  one  true  friend. 

Chorus.  Yea,  I  withal  will  mourn,  as  friend  with  friend 
With  thee  for  this  thy  wife,  for  she  is  worthy. 

Alcestis.  My  children,  ye  yourselves  have  hear.d  all  this, 
Have  heard  your  father  pledge  him  ne'er  to  wed 
For  your  oppression  and  for  my  dishonour. 

Admetus.  Yea,  now  I  say  it,  and  I  will  perform. 

Alcestis.  On  these  terms  take  the  children  from  mine 
hand. 

Admetus.  I    take   them — precious   gift   from    precious 
hand. 

Alcestis.  Be  to  these  babes  a  mother  in  my  stead. 

Admetus.  Sore  is  their  need,  who  are  bereft  of  thee. 

Alcestis.  Darlings,  I  should  have  lived  ;  and  lo,  I  die. 

Admetus.  Ah  me  ! — what  shall  I  do,  forlorn  of  thee  ? 

Alcestis.  Time    shall    bring    healing — but  the  dead  is 
naught. 

Admetus.  Take  me,  ah,  take  me  with  thee  to  the  grave  ! 

Alcestis.  Suffice  it  that  one  dies — she  dies  for  thee. 

Admetus.  O  Death,  of  what  a  wife  dost  thou  bereave 
me ! 

Alcestis.  Dark — dark — mine  eyes  are  drooping,  heavy- 
laden. 

Admetus.  Oh,  I  am  lost  if  thou  wilt  leave  me,  wife  !        t 

Alcestis.  No  more — I  am  no  more :  as  naught  account 
me. 

Admetus.  Uplift  thy  face  :  forsake  not  thine  own  chil- 
dren ! 

Alcestis.  Sore  loath  do  I — yet  oh,  farewell,  my  babes  ! 

Admetus.  Look  unto  them — oh,  look  ! 

Alcestis.  I  am  no  more. 


212  KURII'IDES 

Ailjiictns.  Ah,  leav'st  thou  us? 

Alcestis.  Farewell.  [Dies. 

Admetus.  O  wretch  undone  ! 

Chorus.  Gone — gone  ! — No  more  is  this  Admetus'  wife ! 
Eumelns.  Woe   for   my    lot ! — to   the    tomb   hath    my 

mother  descended,  descended  ! 

Never  again,  O  my  father,  she  seeth  the  light  of  the  sun  ! 
In  anguish  she  leaves  us  forsaken  :  the  story  is  ended,  is 

ended, 
Of  her  sheltering  love,  and  the  tale  of  the  motherless 

life  is  begun. 
Look — look  on  her  eyelids,  her  hands  drooping  nerveless! 

oh,  hear  me,  oh,  hear  me ! 
It  is  I — I  beseech  thee,  my  mother ! — thine  own  little, 

own  little  bird  ! 
It  is  1 — oh,  I  cast  me  upon  thee — thy  lips  are  so  near  me, 

so  near  me, 
Unto  mine  am  I  pressing  them,  mother ! — I  plead  for  a 

word — but  a  word  ! 

Admetus.  With  her  who  heareth  not,  nor  seeth  :  ye 
And  I  are  stricken  with  a  heavy  doom. 

Eumclus.  And  I  am  but  a  little  one,  father — so  young, 

and  forsaken,  forsaken, 
Forlorn  of  my  mother — O  hapless !  a  weariful  lot  shall 

be  mine ! 
And  thou,  little  maiden,  my  sisterx  the  burden  hast  taken, 

hast  taken, 
Which  thy  brother  may  bear  not  alone,  and  a  weariful 

lot  shall  be  thine. 
O  father,  of  long-living  love  was  thy  marriage  uncher- 

ished,  uncherished  : 
Thou  hast  won  not  the  goal  of  old  age  with  the  love  of 

thy  youth  at  thy  side  ; 

For,  or  ever  she  won  to  the  fulness  of  days  she  hath  per- 
ished, hath  perished  ; 

And  the  home  is  a  wreck  and  a  ruin,  for  thou,  O  my 
mother,  hast  died  ! 


ALCESTIS  213 

Chorus.  Admetus,  this  mischance  thou  needs  must  bear. 
Nor  first  of  mortals  thou,  nor  shalt  be  last 
To  lose  a  noble  wife  ;  and,  be  thou  sure, 
From  us,  from  all,  this  debt  is  due— to  die. 

Admetus.  I  know  it :  nowise  unforeseen  this  ill 
Hath  swooped  upon  me :  long  I  grieved  to  know  it. 
But — for  to  burial  must  I  bear  my  dead — 
Stay  ye,  and,  tarrying,  echo  back  my  wail 
To  that  dark  god  whom  no  drink-offerings  move. 
And  all  Thessalians  over  whom  I  rule 
I  bid  take  part  in  mourning  for  this  woman, 
With  shaven  head  and  sable-shrouding  robe. 
And  ye  which  yoke  the  cars  four-horsed,  or  steeds 
Of  single  frontlet,  shear  with  steel  their  manes. 
Music  of  flutes  the  city  through,  or  lyres, 
Be  none,  while  twelve  moons  round  their  circles  out: 
For  dearer  dead,  nor  kinder  unto  me 
I  shall  not  bury :  worthy  of  mine  honour 
Is  she,  for  she  alone  hath  died  for  me.  [Exit. 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
O  Pelias'  daughter,  I  hail  thee : 

I  waft  thee  eternal  farewell 
To  thine  home  where  the  darkness  must  veil  thee, 

Where  in  Hades  unsunned  thou  shalt  dwell. 
Know,  Dark-haired,  thy  gray  Spirit-wafter 

Hath  sped  not  with  twy-plashing  oar 

Woman  nobler,  nor  shall  speed  hereafter 

To  Acheron's  shore. 

Antistrophe  i 
For  the  seven-stringed  shell,  or  for  paean 

Unharped,  shall  thy  fame  be  a  song, 
When  o'er  Sparta  the  moon  Karnean 

High  rideth  the  whole  night  long. 
And  in  Athens  the  wealthy  and  splendid 

Shall  thy  name  on  her  bards'  lips  ring, 


2 '.4  EURIPIDES 

Such  a  theme  hast  thou  left  to  be  blended 
With  the  lays  that  they  sing. 

Strophe  2 
O  that  the  power  were  but  in  me, 

From  the  chambers  of  Hades,  to  light, 
And  from  streams  of  Cocytus,  to  win  thee 

With  the  oar  of  the  river  of  night ! 

0  dear  among  women,  strong-hearted 
From  Hades  to  ransom  thy  lord ! 

Never  spirit  in  such  wise  departed. 

Light  lie  on  thee,  lady,  the  sward  ! 
And,  if  ever  thine  husband  shall  mate  him 

Again  with  a  bride  in  thy  stead, 

1  will  loathe  him,  his  children  shall  hate  him, 

The  babes  of  the  dead. 

Antistrophe  2 
When  his  mother  would  not  be  contented 

To  hide  her  from  him  in  the  tomb, 
Nor  his  gray-haired  father  consented, 

Unholpen  he  looked  on  his  doom. 
Whom  they  bare — the  hard-hearted  ! — they  cared 

not, 

Though  hoary  their  locks  were,  to  save ! 
Thou  art  gone,  for  thy  great  love  spared  not 

Thy  blossom  of  youth  from  the  grave. 
Ah,  may  it  be  mine,  such  communion 

Of  hearts  ! — 'tis  vouchsafed  unto  few  : — 
Then  ours  should  be  sorrowless  union 
Our  life-days  through. 

Enter  HEKAKLES 

Herakles.  Strangers,  who  dwell  in  this  Pheraian  land, 
Say,  do  I  find  Admetus  in  his  home? 

Chorus,  Herakles,  in  his  home  is  Pheres'  son. 
Yet  say,  what  brings  thee  to  Thessalian  land, 


ALCESTIS  215 

That  thou  shouldst  come  to  this  Pheraian  town? 

Herakles.  A  toil  for  King  Eurystheus,  lord  of  Tiryns. 

Chorus.  And  whither  journeyest?     To  what  wander- 
ings yoked  ? 

Herakles.  For  Thracian  Diomedes'  four-horsed  chariot. 

Chorus.   How  canst  thou  ?     Sure  he  is  unknown  to  thee  ! 

Herakles.  Unknown :  to  land  Bistonian  fared  I  never. 

Chorus.  Not  save  by  battle  may  those  steeds  be  won. 

Herakles.  Yet  flinch  I  may  not  from  the  appointed  toils. 

Chorus.  Thy  life  or  his — a  triumph  or  a  grave. 

Herakles.  Not  this  the  first  time  I  have  run  such  course. 

Chorus.  What  profit  is  it  if  thou  slay  their  lord  ? 

Herakles.  Those  steeds  shall  I  drive  back  to  Tiryns'  king. 

Chorus.  Hard  task,  to  set  the  bit  betwixt  their  jaws. 

Herakles.  That  shall  I,  if  their  nostrils  breathe  not  fire. 

Chorus.  Yea,  but  with  ravening  jaws  do  they  rend  men. 

Herakles.  Go  to — thus  banquet  mountain  beasts,  not 
horses. 

Chorus.  Nay,  thou  shalt  see  their  cribs  with  gore  be- 
spattered. 

Herakles.  Whom  boasteth  he  for  father,  he  that  reared 
them  ? 

Chorus.  Ares,  the  king  of  Thracia's  golden  shield. 

Herakles.  Thousayst:  such  toil  my  fate  imposeth  still, 
Harsh  evermore,  uphillward  straining  aye, 
If  I  must  still  in  battle  close  with  sons 
Gotten  of  Ares ;  with  Lykaon  first, 
And  Kyknus  then :  and  lo,  I  come  to  grapple — 
The  third  strife  this — with  yon  steeds  and  their  lord. 
But  never  man  shall  see  Alkmene's  child 
Quailing  before  the  hand  of  any  foe. 

Chorus.  Lo,  there  himself,  the  ruler  of  the  land, 
Admetus,  cometh  forth  his  palace-hall. 

Enter  ADMETUS 

Admetus.  Hail,  O  thou  sprung  from  Zeus'  and  Perseus' 
blood ! 


2i6  EURIPIDES 

Heraklcs.  Admetus,  hail  thou  too,  Thessalia's  king. 
Admctus.  Hale  ? — Would  I  were  !  Yet  thy  good  heart 

I  know. 
Herakles.  Wherefore,   for   mourning    shaven,    showst 

thou  thus  ? 

Admetus.  This  day  must  I  commit  to  earth  a  corpse. 
Herakles.  Now    Heaven    forefend    thou    mournst    for 

children  dead ! 

Admetus.  In  mine  home  live  the  babes  whom  I  begat. 
Herakles.  Sooth,  death-ripe  were  thy  sire,  if  he  be  gone. 
Admetus.  He  liveth,  and  my  mother,  Herakles. 
Herakles.  Surely,  O  surely,  not  thy  wife,  Admetus? 
Admetus.  Twofold  must  be  mine  answer  touching  her. 
Herakles.  Or  hath  she  died,  sayst  thou,  or  liveth  yet? 
Admetus.  She  is  and  she  is  not:  here  lies  my  sorrow. 
Herakles.  Nothing   the    more    I    know :   dark   sayings 

thine. 
Admetus.  Knowst  not    the   doom   whereon  she  needs 

must  light? 

Herakles.  I  know  she  pledged  herself  to  die  for  thee. 
Admetus.  How  lives  she  then,  if  she  to  this  consented  ? 
Herakles.  Mourn  not  thy  wife  ere  dead  :  abide  the  hour. 
Admetus.  Dead  is  the  doomed,  and  no  more  is  the  dead. 
Herakles.  Diverse  are  these — to  be  and  not  to  be. 
Admctus.  This,  Herakles,  thy  sentence :  that  is  mine. 
Heraklcs.  But  now,  why   weep'st  thou  ?     What  dear 

friend  is  dead  ? 

Admetus.  A  woman — hers  the  memory  we  mourn. 
Heraklcs.  Some  stranger  born,  or  nigh  of  kin  to  thee? 
Admctus.  A  stranger  born  ;  yet  near  and  dear  to  us. 
Herakles.  How  died  a  stranger  then  in  house  of  thine  ? 
Admetus.  An  orphan  here  she  dwelt,  her  father  dead. 
Herakles.  Would  we  had  found   thee    mourning   not, 

Admetus ! 
Admetus.  Ay  so  ? — what  purpose   lurketh    'neath  thy 

word  ? 
Heraklcs.  On  will  I  to  another  host's  hearth-welcome. 


ALCESTIS  217 

Admetus.  It  can  not  be  :  may  no  such  evil  come  ! 
Hcraklcs.  A  burden  unto  mourners  comes  the  guest. 
Admetus..  Dead  are  the   dead — but   enter  thou    mine 

house. 
Herakles.  'Twere  shame  to  banquet  in   the  house  of 

weeping. 
Admetus.  Aloof  the  guest-bowers  are  where  we  will 

lodge  thee. 

Herakles.  Let   me  pass  on,   and  have  my  thanks  un- 
measured. 

Admetus.  Unto  another's  hearth  thou  canst  not  go. 
\To  an  ATTENDANT]  Ho  thou,  lead  on:  open  the' guest- 
bowers  looking 

Away  from  these  our  chambers.     Tell  my  stewards 
To  set  on  meat  in  plenty.     Shut  withal 
The  mid-court  doors  :  it  fits  not  that  the  guests, 
The  while  they  feast,  hear  wailings,  and  be  vexed. 

{Exit  HERAKLES. 

Chorus.  What  dost  thou? — such  affliction  at  the  door, 
And  guests  for  thee,  Admetus?     Art  thou  mad  ? 

Admetus.  But  had   I  driven  him  from  my  home  and 

city 

Who  came  my  guest,  then  hadst  thou  praised  me  more  ? 
Nay,  sooth  ;  for  mine  affliction  so  had  grown 
No  less,  and  more  inhospitable  I ; 
And  to  mine  ills  were  added  this  beside, 
That  this  my  home  were  called  "  Guest-hating  Hall." 
Yea,  and  myself  have  proved  him  kindliest  host 
Whene'er  to  Argos'  thirsty  plain  I  fared. 

Chorus.  Why  hide   then   the   dread    Presence   in   the 

house, 

When  came  a  friend  ? — Thyself  hast  named  him  friend. 
'Admetus.  Never  had  he  been  won  to  pass  my  doors, 
Had  he  one  whit  of  mine  afflictions  known. 
To  some,  I  wot,  not  wise  herein  I  seem, 
Nor  wilt  thou  praise :  but  mine  halls  have  not  learned 
To  thrust  away  nor  to  dishonour  guests. 


218  Kl/KII'IDES 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
Halls  thronged  of  the  guests  ever  welcome,  O  dwelling 

Of  a  hero,  forever  the  home  of  the  free, 
The  lord  of  the  lyre-strings  sweet  beyond  telling, 

Apollo  hath  deigned  to  sojourn  in  thee. 
Amid  thine  habitations,  a  shepherd  of  sheep, 
The  flocks  of  Admetus  he  scorned  not  to  keep, 
While  the  shepherds'  bridal-strains,  soft-swelling 

From  his  pipe,  pealed  over  the  slant-sloped  lea. 

Antistrophe  i 
And  the  spotted  lynxes  for  joy  of  thy  singing 

Mixed  with  thy  flocks ;  and  from  Othrys'  dell 
Trooped  tawny  lions :  the  witchery-winging 

Notes  brought  dancing  around  thy  shell, 
Phcebus,  the  dappled  fawn  from  the  shadow 
Of  the  tall-tressed  pines  tripping  forth  to  the  meadow, 
Beating  time  to  the  chime  of  the  rapture-ringing 

Music,  with  light  feet  tranced  by  its  spell. 

Strophe  2 
Wherefore  the  flocks  of  my  lord  unnumbered 

By  the  Boebian  mere  fair-rippling  stray : 
Where  the  steeds  of  the  sun  halt,  darkness-cumbered, 

By  Molossian  marches,  far  away 
The  borders  lie  of  his  golden  grain, 
And  his  rolling  stretches  of  pasture-plain ; 
And  the  havenless  beach  ^Egean  hath  slumbered 

Under  Pelion  long  'neath  the  peace  of  his  sway. 

Antistrophe  2 
And  now,  with  the  tears  from  his  eyes  fast-raining, 

Thrown  wide  are  his  palace-doors  to  the  guest, 
While  newly  his  heart  'neath  its  burden  is  straining, 

For  the  wife  that  hath  died  in  his  halls  distressed. 
For  to  honour's  heights  are  the  high-born  lifted, 
And  the  good  are  with  truest  wisdom  gifted  ; 


ALCESTIS  219 

And  there  broods  on  mine  heart  bright  trust  unwaning 
That  the  god-reverer  shall  yet  be  blest. 

Admetus.  O  kindly  presence  of  Pheraian  men, 
This   corpse   even   now,  with   all   things   meet,  my  ser- 
vants 

Bear  on  their  shoulders  to  the  tomb  and  pyre. 
Wherefore,  as  custom  is,  hail  ye  the  dead, 
On  the  last  journey  as  she  goeth  forth. 

Chorus.  Lo,  I  behold  thy  sire  with  aged  foot 
Advancing,  and  attendants  in  their  hands 
Bear  ornaments  to  deck  the  dead  withal. 

Enter  PHERES,  with  ATTENDANTS,  bearing  gifts 
Pheres.  I  come  in  thine  afflictions  sorrowing,  son : 

A  noble  wife  and  virtuous  hast  thou  lost, 

None  will  gainsay  :  yet  these  calamities 

We  needs  must  bear,  how  hard  to  bear  soever. 

Receive  these  ornaments,  and  let  her  pass 

Beneath  the  earth :  well  may  the  corpse  be  honoured 

Of  her  who  for  thy  life's  sake  died,  my  son ; 

Who  made  me  not  unchilded,  left  me  not 

Forlorn  of  thee  to  pine  in  woeful  eld. 

In  all  her  sisters'  eyes  she  hath  crowned  her  life 

With  glory,  daring  such  a  deed  as  this. 

O  saviour  of  my  son,  who  us  upraisedst 

In  act  to  fall,  all  hail !     May  bliss  be  thine 

Even  in  Hades.     Thus  to  wed,  I  say, 

Profiteth  men — or  nothing  worth  is  marriage. 

Admetus.  Bidden  of  me  thou  com'st  not  to  this  burial, 

Nor  count  I  thine  the  presence  of  a  friend. 

Thine  ornaments  she  never  shall  put  on  ; 

She  shall  be  buried  needing  naught  of  thine. 

Thou  grieve ! — thou  shouldst  have  grieved  in  my  death- 
hour  ! 

Thou  stoodst  aloof — the  old,  didst  leave  the  young 

To  die — and  wilt  thou  wail  upon  this  corpse? 


220  EURIPIDES 

True  father  of  my  body  thou  wast  not ; 

Nor  she  that  said  she  bare  me,  and  was  called 

My  mother,  gave  me  birth  :  of  bondman  blood 

To  thy  wife's  breast  was  I  brought  privily, 

Put  to  the  test,  thou  showedst  who  thou  art, 

And  I  account  me  not  thy  true-born  son. 

Peerless  of  men  in  soulless  cowardice  ! 

So  old,  and  standing  on  the  verge  of  life, 

Yet  hadst  no  will,  yet  hadst  no  heart  to  die 

For  thine  own  son ! — Ye  suffered  her,  a  woman 

Not  of  our  house,  whom  I  with  righteous  cause 

Might  count  alone  my  mother  and  my  father. 

Yet  here  was  honour,  hadst  thou  dared  the  strife, 

In  dying  for  thy  son.     A  paltry  space 

To  cling  to  life  in  any  wise  was  left. 

Then  had  I  lived,  and  she,  through  days  to  come, 

Nor  I,  left  lorn,  should  thus  mine  ills  bemoan. 

Yet  all  that  may  the  fortunate  betide 

Fell  to  thy  lot ;  in  manhood's  prime  a  king  : 

Me  hadst  thou  son  and  heir  unto  thine  house, 

So  that  thou  wast  not,  dying,  like  to  leave 

A  childless  home  for  stranger  folk  to  spoil. 

Nor  canst  thou  say  that  flouting  thy  gray  hairs 

I  gave  thee  o'er  to  death,  whose  reverence 

For  thee  was  passing  word — and  this  the  thank 

That  thou  and  she  that  bear  me  render  me ! 

Wherefore,  make  haste  :  beget  thee  other  sons 

To  foster  thy  gray  hairs,  to  compass  thee 

With  death's  observance,  and  lay  out  thy  corpse. 

Not  I  with  this  mine  hand  will  bury  thee. 

For  thee  dead  am  I.     If  I  see  the  light — 

Another  saviour  found — I  call  me  son 

To  her,  and  loving  fosterer  of  her  age. 

For  naught  the  aged  pray  for  death's  release, 

Plaining  of  age  and  weary-wearing  time. 

Let  death  draw  near — who  then  would  die?     Not  one 

No  more  is  eld  a  burden  unt<»  them. 


ALCESTIS  221 

Chorus.  Oh,  hush  !     Suffice  the  affliction  at  the  doors, 
O  son,  infuriate  not  thy  father's  soul. 

Pheres.  Son,  whom,  thinkst  thou — some  Lydian  slave 

or  Phrygian 

Bought  with  thy  money  ? — thus  beratest  thou  ? 
What,  knowst  thou  not  that  I  Thessalian  am, 
Sprung  from  Thessalian  sire,  free  man  true-born? 
This  insolence  passeth ! — hurling  malapert  words 
On  me,  not  lightly  thus  shalt  thou  come  off! 
Thee  I  begat  and  nurtured,  of  mine  house 
The  heir:  no  debt  is  mine  to  die  for  thee. 
Not  from  our  sires  such  custom  we  received 
That  sires  for  sons  should  die :  no  Greek  law  this. 
Born  for  thyself  wast  thou,  to  fortune  good 
Or  evil :  all  thy  dues  from  us  thou  hast. 
O'er  many  folk  thou  rulest ;  wide  demesnes 
Shall  I  leave  thee  :  to  me  my  fathers  left  them. 
What  is  my  wrong,  my  robbery  of  thee  ? 
For  me  die  thou  not,  I  die  not  for  thee. 
Thou  joy'st  to  see  light — shall  thy  father  joy  not? 
Sooth,  I  account  our  time  beneath  the  earth 
Long,  and  our  life-space  short,  yet  is  it  sweet. 
Shamelessly  hast  thou  fought  against  thy  death : 
Thy  life  is  but  transgression  of  thy  doom 
And  murder  of  thy  wife — my  cowardice ! 
This  from  thee,  dastard  !  worsted  by  a  woman 
Who  died  for  thee,  the  glorious-gallant  youth ! 
Cunning  device  hast  thou  devised  to  die 
Never,  cajoling  still  wife  after  wife 
To  die  for  thee  ! — and  dost  revile  thy  friends 
Who  will  not  so — an,d  thou  the  coward,  thou  ? 
Peace !  e'en  bethink  thee,  if  thou  lov'st  thy  life, 
So  all  love  theirs.     Thou,  if  thou  speakest  evil 
Of  us,  shalt  hear  much  evil,  and  that  true. 

Chorus.  Ye  have   said  too  much,  thou    now,  and    he 

before. 
Refrain,  old  sire,  from  railing  on  thy  son. 


222  EURIPIDES 

Admctus.  Say  on,  say  on  ;   I  have  said  :  if  hearing  truth 
Gall  thee,  thou  shouldst  not  have  done  me  wrong. 

Pheres.  1  had  done  more  wrong,  had  1  died  for  thee. 

Admctus.  What,  for  the  young  and  old  is  death  the 
same? 

Pheres.  One  life  to  live,  not  twain — this  is  our  due. 

Admetus.  Have  thy  desire — one  life  outlasting  Zeus. 

Pheres.  Dost  curse  thy  parents,  who  hast  had  no  wrong? 

Admetus.  Ay,  whom  I  marked  love-sick  for  dateless  life. 

Pheres.  What  ? — art  not  burying  her  in  thine  own  stead  ? 

Admetus.  A  token,  dastard,  of  thy  cowardice. 

Pheres.  I  did  her  not  to  death :  thou  canst  not  say  it. 

Admetus.  Mayst  thou  feel  thy  need  of  me  some  day  ! 

Pheres.  Woo  many  women,  that  the  more  may  die. 

Admetus.  This  taunt  strikes  thee — 'tis  thou  wast  loath 
to  die. 

Pheres.  Sweet  is  yon  sun-god's  light,  yea,  it  is  sweet. 

Admetus.  Base  is  thy  spirit,  and  unmeet  for  men. 

Pheres.  No  aged  corpse  thou  bearest,  inly  laughing ! 

Admctus.   Yet  shalt  thou  die  in    ill  fame,  when  thou 
diest. 

Pheres.  Naught  reck  I  of  ill-speaking  o'er  my  grave. 

Admctus.   Ah  me  !  how  full  of  shamelessness  is  eld  ! 

Pheres.   Not  shameless    she — but    senseless    hast  thou 
found  her. 

Admctus.  Begone  :  leave  me  to  bury  this  my  dead. 

Pheres.  I  go:  her  murderer  will  bury  her. 
Thou  shalt  yet  answer  for  it  to  her  kin. 
Surely  Akastus  is  no  more  a  man, 
If  he  of  thee  claim  not  his  sister's  blood.       [Exit  PHERES. 

Admctus.  Avaunt,  with  her  that  kennelleth  with  thee ! 
Childless  grow  old,  as  ye  deserve,  while  lives 
Your  child  :  ye  shall  not  come  beneath  one  roof 
With  me.     If  need  were  to  renounce  by  heralds 
Thy  fatherhood,  I  had  renounced  it  now. 
Let  us — for  we  niiM  beat"  the  present  ill — 
Pass  on,  to  lay  our  dead  upon  the  pyre. 


ALCESTIS  223 

CHORUS 
Alas  for  the  loving  and  daring ! 

Farewell  to  the  noblest  and  best ! 
May  Hermes  conduct  thee  down-faring 

Kindly,  and  Hades  to  rest 
Receive  thee  !     If  any  atonement 

For  ills  even  there  may  betide    . 
To  the  good,  O  thine  be  enthronement 
By  Hades'  bride ! 

[Exeunt  omnes  in  funeral  procession. 

Enter  SERVANT 
Servant.  Full  many  a  guest,  from  many  a  land  which 

came 

Unto  Admetus'  dwelling,  have  I  known, 
Have  set  before  them  meat :  but  never  guest 
More  pestilent  received  I  to  this  hearth : 
Who  first,  albeit  he  saw  my  master  mourning, 
Entered,  and  passed  the  threshold  unashamed ; 
Then,  nowise  courteously  received  the  fare 
Found  with  us,  though  our  woeful  plight  he  knew, 
But,  what  we  brought  not,  hectoring  bade  us  bring. 
The  ivy  cup  uplifts  he  in  his  hands, 
And  swills  the  darkling  mother's  fiery  blood, 
Till  the  wine's  flame  enwrapped  him,  heating  him. 
Then  did  he  wreathe  his  head  with  myrtle  sprays, 
Dissonant-howling.     Diverse  strains  were  heard  ; 
For  he  sang  on,  regardless  all  of  ills 
Darkening  Admetus'  house  ;  we  servants  wept 
Our  mistress  :  yet  we  showed  not  to  the  guest 
Eyes  tear-bedewed,  for  so  Admetus  bade. 
And  now  within  the  house  must  I  be  feasting 
This  guest — a  lawless  thief,  a  bandit  rogue  ! 
She  from  the  house  hath  passed  :  I  followed  not, 
Nor  stretched  the  hand,  nor  wailed  unto  my  mistress 
Farewell,  who  was  to  me  and  all  the  household 
A  mother,  for  from  ills  untold  she  saved  us, 


224  EURIPIDES 

Assuaging  her  lord's  wrath.     Do  I  not  well 
To  loathe  this  guest,  intruder  on  our  griefs  ? 

Enter  HERAKLES 

Herakles.  Ho,  fellow,  why  this  solemn  brooding  look? 
The  servant  should  not  lower  upon  the  guest, 
But  welcome  him  with  kindly-beaming  cheer. 
Thou,  seeing  here  in  presence  thy  lord's  friend, 
With  visage  sour  and  cloud  of  knitted  brows 
Receiv'st  him,  fretting  o'er  an  alien  grief. 
Hither  to  me,  that  wiser  thou  mayst  grow. 
The  lot  of  man — its  nature  knowest  thou? 
I  trow  not :  how  shouldst  thou  ?     Give  ear  to  me. 
From  all  mankind  the  debt  of  death  is  due, 
Nor  of  all  mortals  is  there  one  that  knows 
If  through  the  coming  morrow  he  shall  live  : 
For  trackless  is  the  way  of  Fortune's  feet, 
Not  to  be  taught,  nor  won  by  art  of  man. 
This  hearing  then,  and  learning  it  from  me, 
Make  merry,  drink  :  the  life  from  day  to  day 
Account  thine  own,  all  else  in  Fortune's  power. 
Honour  withal  the  sweetest  of  the  gods 
To  men,  the  Cyprian  queen — a  gracious  goddess  ! 
These  thoughts  put  by,  and  hearken  to  my  words, 
If  words  of  wisdom  unto  thee  they  seem. 
I  trow  it.     Hence  with  sorrow  overwrought ; 
Pass  through  yon  doors  and  quaff  the  wine  with  me, 
Thy  brows  with  garlands  bound.     Full  well  I  wot, 
From  all  this  lowering  spirit  prison-pent 
Thine  anchor  shall  Sir  Beaker's  plash  upheave. 
What,  man ! — the  mortal  must  be  mortal-minded. 
So,  for  your  solemn  wights  of  knitted  brows, 
For  each  and  all — if  thou  for  judge  wilt  take  me — 
Life  is  not  truly  life,  but  mere  affliction. 

Servant.  All    this    we     know  :    but     now    are    we   in 

plight 
Not  meet  for  laughter  and  for  revelry. 


ALCESTIS  225 

Herakles.  The  woman  dead  is  alien-born  :  grieve  not 
Exceeding  much.     Yet  live  the  household's  lords. 

Servant.  Live,  quotha  ! — knowst  thou  not  the  house's 
ills? 

Herakles.  Yea,  if  thy  master  lied  not  unto  me. 

Servant.  Guest-fain  he  is — ah,  guest-fain  overmuch. 

Herakles.  A  stranger  dead — and  no  guest-cheer  for  me  ? 

Servant.  Oh,  yea,  an  alien  she — o'ermuch  an  alien ! 

Herakles.  Ha!  was  he  keeping  some  affliction  back? 

Servant.  Go  thou  in  peace  :  our  lords'  ills  are  for  us. 

Herakles.  Grief  for  a  stranger  such  talk  heralds  not. 

Servant.  Else  had  I  not  sore  vexed  beheld  thy  revelling. 

Herakles.  How!  have  I  sorry  handling  of  mine  hosts? 

Servant.  Thou  cam'st  in  hour  unmeet  for  welcoming, 
For  grief  is  on  us ;  and  thou  see'st  shorn  hair 
And  vesture  of  black  robes. 

Herakles.  But  who  hath  died? 

Not  of  the  children  one,  or  gray-haired  sire? 

Servant.  Nay,  but  Admetus'  wife  is  dead,  O  guest! 

Herakles.  How  sayst  thou?      Ha!  even  then  ye  gave 
me  welcome? 

Servant.  For   shame  he    could  not   thrust  thee  from 
his  doors. 

Herakles.  O  hapless !  what  a  helpmeet  hast  thou  lost ! 

Servant.  We  have  all  perished,  and  not  she  alone. 

Herakles.  I  felt  it,  when  I  saw  his  tear-drowned  eyes, 
His  shaven  hair,  and  face :  yet  he  prevailed, 
Saying  he  bare  a  stranger-friend  to  burial. 
I  passed  this  threshold  in  mine  heart's  despite, 
And  drank  in  halls  of  him  that  loves  the  guest, 
When  thus  his  plight !     And  am  I  revelling 
With  head  wreath-decked?     That  thou  should'st  ne'er 

have  told, 

When  such  affliction  lay  upon  the  home! 
Where  doth  he  bury  her?     Where  shall  I  find  her? 

Servant.  By  the  straight  path  that  leads  Larissa-ward 
Shall  see  the  hewn-stone  tomb  without  the  walls. 
15 


226 

Hcraklcs.  Oh,  much-enduring  heart  and  soul  of  mine, 
Now  show  what  son  the  Lady  of  Tiryns  bare 
Elektryon's  child  Alkmene,  unto  Zeus. 
For  I  must  save  the  woman  newly  dead, 
And  set  Alcestis  in  this  house  again, 
And  render  to  Admetus  good  for  good. 
I  go.     The  sable-vestured  King  of  Corpses, 
Death,  will  I  watch  for,  and  shall  find,  I  trow, 
Drinking  the  death-draught  hard  beside  the  tomb. 
And  if  I  lie  in,  wait,  and  dart  from  ambush, 
And  seize,  and  with  mine  arms'  coil  compass  him, 
None  is  there  shall  deliver  from  mine  hands 
His  straining  sides,  or  e'er  he  yields  his  prey. 
Yea,  though  I  miss  the  quarry,  and  he  come  not 
Unto  the  blood-clot,  to  the  sunless  homes 
Down  will  I  fare  of  Kore  and  her  king, 
And  make  demand.     I  doubt  not  I  shall  lead 
Alcestis  up,  and  give  to  mine  host's  hands, 
Who  to  his  halls  received,  nor  drave  me  thence, 
Albeit  smitten  with  affliction  sore, 
But  hid  it,  like  a  prince,  respecting  me. 
Who  is  more  guest-fain  of  Thessalians? 
Who  in  all  Hellas? — Oh,  he  shall  not  say 
That  one  so  princely  showed  a  base  man  kindness. 

[Exit. 

Enter  ADMETUS,  with  CHORUS  and  ATTENDANTS,  return- 
ing from  the  funeral 

Admetus.       Oh,  hateful  returning! 

Oh,  hateful  to  see 
Drear  halls  full  of  yearning 

For  the  lost — ah  me  ! 

What  aim   or  what    rest  have  I  ? — silence  or   speech,  of 
what  help  shall  they  be? 

Would  God  I  were  dead  ! 
Oh,  I  came  from  the  womb 


ALCESTIS 


227 


To  a  destiny  dread  ! 

Ah,  those  in  the  tomb — 

How  I  envy  them  !    How  I  desire  them,  and  long  to  abide 
in  their  home ! 

To  mine  eyes  nothing  sweet 
Is  the  light  of  the  heaven, 
Nor  the  earth  to  my  feet ; 

Such  a  helpmeet  is  riven 

By  Death  from  my  side,  and  my  darling  to  Hades  the 
spoiler  hath  given. 

Chorus.          Pass  on  thou,  and  hide  thee 
In  thy  chambers. 

Admetus.  Ah  woe ! 

Chorus.         Wail  the  griefs  that  betide  thee : 

How  canst  thou  but  so? 
Admetus.  O  God ! 
Chorus.  Thou  hast    passed  through    deep    waters    of 

anguish — I  know  it,  I  know. 
Admetus.  Alas  and  alas ! 
Chorus.  No  help  bringeth  this 

To  thy  love  in  that  place. 
Admetus.  Woe ! 
Chorus.  Bitter  it  is 

The  face  of  a  wife  well-beloved  for  ever  and  ever  to  miss. 
Admetus.  Thou  hast  stricken  mine  heart 

Where  the  wound  will  not  heal. 
What  is  worse  than  to  part 
From  the  loving  and  leal  ? 

Would  God  I  had  wedded  her  not,  home-bliss  with  Alces- 
tis  to  feel ! 

Oh,  I  envy  the  lot 

Of  the  man  without  wife, 
Without  child  ;  single-wrought 

Is  the  strand  of  his  life : 


228  EURIl'li 

No   soul-crushing    burden    of    sorrow,  no  strength-over- 
mastering strife. 

But  that  children  should  sicken, 

That  gloom  of  despair 
Over  bride-beds  should  thicken, 

What  spirit  can  bear, 

When   childless,  unwedded,  a  man   through    life's   calm 
journey  might  fare? 

Chorus.  Thee  Fortune  hath  met, 

Strong  wrestler,  and  thrown  ; 
Yet  no  bounds  hast  thou  set — 
Admetus.  Woe's  me  ! — 
Chorus.  To  thy  moan. 

Oh,  thy  burden  is  heavy  ! 
Admetus.  Alas ! 

Chorus.  Yet  endure  it :  thou  art  not  alone. 
Not  thou  art  the  first 

Of  bereaved  ones. 
Admetus.  Ah  me ! 
Chorus.  Such  tempest  hath  burst 

Upon  many  ere  thee. 
Unto  each  his  mischance,  when  the  surges  roll  up  from 

Calamity's  sea. 
Admetus.         Oh,  long  grief  and  pain 

For  beloved  ones  passed  ! 
Why  didst  thou  restrain 

When  myself  I  had  cast 

Down  into  her  grave,  with  the  noblest  to  lie  peace-lulled 
at  the  last  ? 

Not  one  soul,  but  two 

Had  been  Hades'  prey, 
Souls  utterly  true 

Together  for  aye, 

Which  together  o'er  waves  of  the  underworld  mere  had 
passed  this  day. 


ALCESTIS 


229 


Chorus.  Of  my  kin  was  there  one, 

And  the  life's  light  failed 
In  his  halls  of  a  son, 

One  meet  to  be  wailed, 

His  only  beloved  :  howbeit  the  manhood  within  him  pre- 
vailed ; 

And  the  ills  heaven-sent 
As  a  man  did  he  bear, 
Though  by  this  was  he  bent 

Unto  silvered  hair, 

Far  on  in  life's  path,  without  son  for  his  remnant  of  weak- 
ness to  care. 
Admctus.         Oh,  how  can  I  tread 

Thy  threshold,  fair  home? 
How  shelter  mine  head 

'Neath  my  roof,  now  the  doom 

Of  the  gods'  dice  changeth  ? — ah  me,  what  change  upon 
all  things  is  come  ! 

For  with  torches  aflame 

Of  the  Pelian  pine, 
And  with  bride-song  I  came 

In  that  hour  divine, 

Upbearing   the    hand   of   a  wife — thine  hand,  O  darling 
mine  ! 

Followed  revellers,  raising 

Acclaim :  ever  broke 
From  the  lips  of  them  praising, 

Of  the  dead  as  they  spoke, 

And -of  me,  how  the  noble,  the  children  of  kings,  Love 
joined  'neath  his  yoke. 

But  for  bridal  song 

Is  the  wail  for  the  dead, 
And,  for  white-robed  throng, 

Black  vesture  hath  led 

Me  to  halls  where  the  ghost  of  delight  lieth  couched  on 
a  desolate  bed. 


230 


EURIPIDES 


Chorus.  To  the  trance  of  thy  bliss 

Sudden  anguish  was  brought. 
Never  lesson  like  this 

To  thine  heart  had  been  taught : 

Yet  thy  life  hast  thou  won,  and  thy  soul  hast  delivered 
from  death  : — is  it  naught  ? 

Thy  wife  hath  departed  : 

Love  tender  and  true 
Hast  she  left :  stricken-hearted, 

Wherein  is  this  new  ? 

Hath  Death  not  unyoked  from  the  chariot  of  Love  full 
many  ere  you  ? 

Admetus.  Friends,  I  account  the  fortune  of  my  wife 
Happier  than  mine,  albeit  it  seems  not  so. 
For  naught  of  grief  shall  touch  her  any  more, 
And  glorious  rest  she  finds  from  many  toils. 
But  I,  unmeet  to  live,  my  doom  outrun, 
Shall  drag  out  bitter  days :  I  know  it  now. 
How  shall  I  bear  to  enter  this  mine  home  ? 
Speaking  to  whom,  and  having  speech  of  whom, 
Shall  I  find  joy  of  entering  ? — whither  turn  me  ? 
The  solitude  within  shall  drive  me  forth, 
Whenso  I  see  my  wife's  couch  tenantless, 
And  seats  whereon  she  sat,  and,  'neath  the  roof, 
All  foul  the  floor  ;  when  on  njy  knees  my  babes 
Falling  shall  weep  their  mother,  servants  moan 
The  peerless  mistress  from  the  mansion  lost. 
All  this  within :  but  from  the  world  without 
Shall  bridals  of  Thessalians  chase  me  :  throngs 
Where  women  gossip  ;  for  I  shall  not  bear 
On  those  companions  of  my  wife  to  look. 
And,  if  a  fo?  I  have,  thus  shall  he  scoff : 
"  Lo  there  who  basely  liveth — dared  not  die, 
But  whom  he  wedded  gave,  a  coward's  ransom, 
And  'scaped  from  Hades.     Count  ye  him  a  man? 


ALCESTIS 


231 


He  hates  his  parents,  though  himself  was  loath 
To  die  !  "     Such  ill  report,  besides  my  griefs, 
Shall  mine  be.     Ah,  what  profit  is  to  live, 
O  friends,  in  evil  fame,  in  evil  plight? 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
Chorus.  I  have  mused  on  the  words  of  the  wise, 

Of  the  mighty  in  song  ; 
I  have  lifted  mine  heart  to  the  skies, 
I  have  searched  all  truth  with  mine  eyes ; 

But  naught  more  strong 
Than  fate  have  I  found :  there  is  naught 

In  the  tablets  of  Thrace, 
Neither  drugs  whereof  Orpheus  taught, 
Nor  in  all  that  Apollo  brought 

To  Asklepius'  race, 

When  the  herbs  of  healing  he  severed,  and  out  of  their 
anguish  delivered 

The  pain-distraught 

Antistrophe  I 

There  is  none  other  goddess  beside, 

To  the  altars  of  whom 
No  man  draweth  near,  nor  hath  cried 
To  her  image,  nor  victim  hath  died, 

Averting  her  doom. 
O  goddess,  more  mighty  for  ill 

Come  not  upon  me 
Than  in  days  overpast :  for  his  will 
Even  Zeus  may  in  no  wise  fulfil 

Unholpen  of  thee. 

Steel  is  molten  as  water  before  thee,  but  never  relenting 
came  o'er  thee, 

Who  are  ruthless  still. 


232 


EURIPIDES 


Strophe  2 
Thee,  friend,  hath  the  goddess  gripped :  from  her  hands 

never  wrestler  hath  slipped. 

Yet  be  strong  to  endure :  never  mourning  shall  bring  our 
beloved  returning 

From  the  nethergloom  up  to  the  light. 
Yea,  the  heroes  of  gods  begotten, 
They  fade  into  darkness,  forgotten 

In  death's  chill  night. 
Dear  was  she  in  days  ere  we  lost  her, 

Dear  yet,  though  she  lie  with  the  dead. 
None  nobler  shall  Earth-mother  foster 
Than  the  wife  of  thy  bed. 

Antistrophe  2 
Not  as  mounds  of  the  dead  which  have  died,  so  account 

we  the  tomb  of  thy  bride, 

But  oh,  let  the  worship  and  honour  that  we  render  to 
gods  rest  upon  her  : 

Unto  her  let  the  wayfarer  pray. 
As  he  treadeth  the  pathway  that  trendeth 
Aside  from  the  highway,  and  bendeth 

At  her  shrine,  he  shall  say  : 
"  Her  life  for  her  lord's  was  given  ; 

With  the  blest  now  abides  she  on  high. 
Hail,  queen,  show  us  grace  from  thine 

heaven  !  " 
Even  so  shall  they  cry. 

But  lo,  Alkmene's  son,  as  seemeth,  yonder, 
Admetus,  to  thine  hearth  is  journeying. 

Enter   HERAKLES,   leading  a  woman  wholly  veiled 
llerakles.  Unto  a  friend  behooveth  speech  outspoken, 
Admetus,  not  to  hide  within  the  breast 
Murmurs  unvoiced.     I  came  mid  thine  affliction. 
Fair  claim  was  mine  to  rank  amid  thy  friends. 


ALCESTIS  233 

Thou  told'st  me  not  how  lay  thy  wife  a  corpse  : 
Thou  gavest  me  guest-welcome  in  thine  home, 
Making  pretence  of  mourning  for  a  stranger. 
I  wreathed  mine  head,  I  spilled  unto  the  gods 
Drink-offerings  in  a  stricken  house,  even  thine. 
I  blame  thee,  thus  mishandled,  yea,  I  blame  thee. 
Yet  nowise  is  my  will  to  gall  thy  grief. 
But  wherefore  hither  turning  back  I  come, 
This  will  I  tell.     Take,  guard  for  me  this  maid, 
Till,  leading  hitherward  the  Thracian  mares, 
I  come  from  slaughter  of  Bistonia's  lord. 
But  if — not  that,  for  I  would  fain  return — 
I  give  her  then,  for  service  of  thine  halls. 
Prize  of  hard  toil  unto  mine  hands  she  came  : 
For  certain  men  I  found  but  now  arraying 
An  athlete-strife,  toil-worthy,  for  all  comers, 
Whence  I  have  won  and  bring  this  victor's  meed. 
Horses  there  were  for  them  to  take  which  won 
The  light  foot's  triumph ;  but  for  hero-strife, 
Boxing  and  wrestling,  oxen  were  the  guerdon  : 
A  woman  made  it  richer.     Shame  it  seemed 
To  hap  thereon,  and  slip  this  glorious  gain. 
But,  as  I  said,  this  woman  be  thy  care  : 
For  no  thief's  prize,  but  toil-achieved,  I  bring  her. 
Yea,  one  day  thou  perchance  shalt  say  'twas  well. 

Admetus.  Not  flouting  thee,  nor  counting  among  foes, 
My  wife's  unhappy  fate  I  hid  from  thee. 
But  this  had  been  but  grief  uppiled  on  grief, 
Hadst  thou  sped  hence  to  be  another's  guest ; 
And  mine  own  ills  sufficed  me  to  bewail. 
But,  for  the  woman — if  in  any  wise 
It  may  be,  prince,  bid  some  Thessalian  guard  her, 
I  pray  thee,  who  hath  suffered  not  as  I.  , 

In  Pherse  many  a  friend  and  host  thou^hast. 
Awaken  not  remembrance  of  my  grief. 
I  could  not,  seeing  her  mine  halls  within, 
Be  tearless  :  add  not  hurt  unto  mine  hurt. 
9 


234 


EURIPIDES 


Burdened  enough  am  I  by  mine  affliction. 

Nay,  in  mine  house  where  should  a  young  maid  lodge? — 

For  vesture  and  adorning  speak  her  young — 

What,  'neath  the  men's  roof  shall  her  lodging  be  ? 

And  how  unsullied,  dwelling  with  young  men  ? 

Not  easy  is  it,  Herakles,  to  curb 

The  young  :  herein  do  I  take  thought  for  thee. 

Or  shall  I  ope  to  her  my  dead  wife's  bower? 

How  ! — cause  her  to  usurp  my  lost  love's  bed  ? 

Twofold  reproach  I  dread — from  mine  own  folk, 

Lest  one  should  say  that,  traitor  to  her  kindness, 

I  fall  upon  another  woman's  bed — 

And  of  the  dead,  to  me  most  reverence-worthy, 

Needs  must  I  take  great  heed.     But,  woman,  thou, 

Whoso  thou  art,  know  that  thy  body's  stature 

Is  as  Alcestis,  and  thy  form  as  hers. 

Ah  me  ! — lead,  for  the  gods'  sake,  from  my  sight 

This  woman  ! — Take  not  my  captivity  captive. 

For,  as  I  look  on  her,  methinks  I  see 

My  wife  :  she  stirs  mine  heart  with  turmoil :  fountains 

Of  tears  burst  from  mine  eyes.     O  wretched  I  ! 

Now  first  I  taste  this  grief's  full  bitterness. 

Chorus.  In  sooth  thy  fortune  can  I  not  commend  : 
Yet  must  we  brook  a  god's  gift,  whoso  cometh. 

Herakles.  Oh,  that  such  might  I  had  as  back  to  bring 
To  light  thy  wife  from  nethergloom  abodes, 
And  to  bestow  this  kindness  upon  thee  ! 

Admetus.  Fain  wouldst  thou,  well  I  know.     But  where- 
fore this  ? 
It  can  not  be  the  dead  to  light  should  come. 

Herakles.  O'ershoot  not  now  the  mark,  but  bear  all 
bravely. 

Admetus.  Easier  to  exhort  than  suffer  and  be  strong. 

Herakles.  But  what  thy  profit,  though  for  aye  thou 
moan  ? 

Admetus.  I  too  know  this  ;  yet  love  constraineth  me. 

Herakles.  Love  for  the  lost — ay,  that  draws  forth  the 
tear. 


ALCESTIS  235 

Admetus.  She  hath  undone  me  more  than  words  can 

tell. 

Herakles.  A  good  wife  hast  thou  lost,  who  shall  gain- 
say ? 

Admetus.  So  that  this  man  hath  no  more  joy  in  life. 
Herakles,  Time  shall  bring  healing  :  now  is  thy  grief 

young. 
Admetus.  Time — time  ? — Oh,  yea,  if  this  thy  Time  be 

Death ! 
Herakles.  A  wife,  and  yearning  for  new  love,  shall  calm 

thee. 
.  Admetus.  Hush  ! — what  sayst  thou  ? — I  could  not  think 

thereon  ! 
Herakles.  How  ? — wilt  not  wed,  but  widowed  keep  thy 

couch  ? 
Admetus.  Lives  not  the  woman  that  shall  couch  with 

me. 
Herakles.  Lookst  thou  that  this  shall  profit  aught  the 

dead  ? 

Admetus.     I  needs  must  honour  her  where'er  she  be. 
Herakles.  Good — good— yet  one  with   folly  so  might 

charge  thee. 

Admetus.  So  be  it,  so  thou  call  me  bridegroom  never. 
Herakles.  I  praise  thee  for  that  leal  thou  art  to  her. 
Admetus.  Death  be  my  meed,  if  I  betray  her  dead. 
Herakles.  Receive  this  woman  now  these  halls  within. 
Admetus.  Nay ! — I   beseech    by  Zeus   that   did    beget 

thee! 

Herakles.  Yet  shalt  thou  err  if  thou  do  not  this  thing. 
Admetus.  Yet  shall  mine  heart  be  grief-stung,  if  I  do  it. 
Herakles.  Yield  thou !  this  grace  may  prove  perchance 

a  duty. 
Admetus.  Oh,  that  in  strife  thou  ne'er  hadst  won  this 

maid  ! 

Herakles.  Yet  thy  friend's  victory  is  surely  thine. 
Admetus.  Well  said  :  yet  let  the  woman  hence  depart. 
Herakles.  Yea — if  need  be.    First  look  well — need  it  be  ? 


236  EURIPIDKS 

Admetus.  Needs  must — save  thou  wilt  else  be  wroth 

with  me. 

Herakles.  I  too  know  what  I  do,  insisting  thus. 
Admetus.  Have   then    thy    will :    thy    pleasure    is   my 

pain. 

Herakles.  Yet  one  day  shalt  thou  praise  me  :  only  yield. 
Admetus  [to  ATTENDANTS].  Lead  ye  her,  if  mine  halls 

must  needs  receive. 

Herakles.  Not  to  thy  servants'  hands  will  I  commit  her. 
Admetus.  Thou  lead  her  in  then,  if  it  seems  thee  good. 
Herakles.  Nay,  but  in  thine  hands  will  I  place  her— 

thine. 

Admetus.  I  will  not  touch  her! — Open  stand  my  doors. 
Herakles.  Unto  thy  right  hand  only  trust  I  her. 
Admetus.  O  king,  thou  forcest  me :  1  will  not  this  ! 
Herakles.  Be   strong:    stretch    forth    thine    hand    and 

touch  thy  guest. 

Admetus.  I  stretch  it  forth,  as  to  a  headless  Gorgon. 
Herakles.  Hast  her  ? 
Admetus.  1  have. 

Herakles.  Yea,  guard  her.     Thou  shalt  call 

The  child  of  Zeus  one  day  a  noble  guest. 

[Raises  tJie  veil,  and  discloses  ALCESTIS. 
Look  on  her,  if  in  aught  she  seems  to  thee 
Like  to  thy  wife.     Step  forth  from  grief  to  bliss. 

Admetus.  What  shall  I  say  ? — Gods  !     Marvel  this  un- 
hoped for ! 

My  wife  do  I  behold  in  very  sooth, 
Or  doth  some  god-sent  mockery -joy  distract  me  ? 
Herakles.  Not  so  ;  but  this  thou  seest  is  thy  wife. 
Admetus.  What   if   this    be   some   phantom  from   the 

shades? 

Herakles.  No  ghost-upraiser  hast  thou  ta'en  for  guest. 
Admetus.  How? — whom  I  buried  do  I  see — my  wife? 
Herakles.  Doubt  not :  yet  might'st  thou  well  mistrust 

thy  fortune. 
Admetus.  As  wife,  as  living,  may  I  touch,  address  her? 


ALCESTIS  237 

Herakles.  Speak  to    her :    all   thou  didst  desire   thou 

hast. 

Admetus.  O  face,  O  form  of  my  beloved  wife, 
Past  hope  I  have  thee,  who  ne'er  thought  to  see  thee ! 
Herakles.  Thou   hast :    may  no   god  of    thy  bliss   be 

jealous. 

Admetiis.  O  scion  nobly-born  of  Zeus  most  high, 
Blessings  on  thee  !     The  Father  who  begat  thee 
Keep  thee  !     Thou  only  hast  restored  my  fortunes. 
How  didst  thou  bring  her  from  the  shades  to  light? 

Herakles.  I  closed  in  conflict  with  the  Lord  of  Spirits. 
Admetus.    Where,   sayst   thou,    didst   thou    fight   this 

fight  with  Death  ? 

Herakles.  From  ambush  by  the  tomb  mine  hands  en- 
snared him. 
Admetus.  Now  wherefore  speechless  standeth  thus  my 

wife? 
Herakles.  'Tis  not  vouchsafed  thee   yet   to  hear   her 

voice, 

Ere  to  the  powers  beneath  the  earth  she  be 
Unconsecrated,  and  the  third  day  come. 
But  lead  her  in,  and,  just  man  as  thou  art, 
Henceforth,  Admetus,  reverence  still  the  guest. 
Farewell.     But  I  must  go,  and  work  the  work 
Set  by  the  king,  the  son  of  Sthenelus. 

Admetus.  Abide  with  us,  a  sharer  of  our  hearth. 
Herakles.  Hereafter  this :  now  must  I  hasten  on. 
Admetus.  Oh,  prosper  thou,  and  come  again  in  peace! 
Through  all  my  realm  I  publish  to  my  folk 
That,  for  these  blessings,  dances  they  array, 
And  that  atonement-fumes  from  altars  rise. 
For  now  to  happier  days  than  those  o'erpast 
Have  we  attained.     I  own  me  blest  indeed. 

Chorus.  Oh,  the  works  of  the  gods — in  manifold  forms 

they  reveal  them  : 

Manifold  things  unhoped-for  the  gods  to  accomplishment 
bring. 


238  EURIPIDES 

And  the  things  that  we  looked  for,  the  gods  deign  not  to 

fulfil  them  ; 
And  the  paths  undiscerned  of  our  eyes,  the  gods  unseal 

them. 
So  fell  this  marvellous  thing. 

\_Exeunt  omnes. 


THE  MEDEA  OF  EURIPIDES 


TRANSLATED    BY 

ARTHUR   S.   WAY 


WHEN  the  Heroes,  who  sailed  in  the  ship  Argo  to  bring 
home  the  Golden  Fleece,  came  to  the  land  of  Kolchis,  they 
•found  that  to  win  that  treasure  was  a  deed  passing  the  might 
of  mortal  man,  so  terribly  was  it  guarded  by  monsters  magi- 
cal, even  fire-breathing  bulls  and  an  unsleeping  dragon.  But 
Aphrodite  caused  Medea  the  sorceress,  daughter  of  Aietes  the 
king  of  the  land,  to  love  Jason  their  captain,  so  that  by  her 
magic  he  overcame  the  bulls  and  the  dragon.  Then  Jason 
took  the  Fleece,  and  Medea  withal,  for  that  he  had  pledged 
him  to  wed  her  in  the  land  of  Greece.  But  as  they  fled,  Absyr- 
tus  her  brother  pursued  them  with  a  host  of  war,  yet  by  Me- 
dea's devising  was  he  slain.  So  they  came  to  the  land  of 
lolkos,  and  to  Pelias,  who  held  the  kingdom  which  was  Jason's 
of  right.  But  Medea  by  her  magic  wrought  upon  Pelias's 
daughters  so  that  they  slew  their  father.  Yet  by  reason  of 
men's  horror  of  the  deed  might  not  Jason  and  Medea  abide  in 
the  land,  and  they  came  to  Corinth.  And  there  all  men  re- 
joiced for  the  coming  of  a  hero  so  mighty  in  war  and  a  lady 
renowned  for  wisdom  unearthly,  for  that  Medea  was  grand- 
child of  the  Sun-god.  But  after  ten  years,  Kreon  the  king  of 
the  land  spake  to  Jason,  saying,  "  Lo,  I  will  give  thee  my 
daughter  to  wife,  and  thou  shall  reign  after  me,  if  thou  wilt 
put  away  thy  wife  Medea  ;  but  her  and  her  two  sons  will  I 
banish  from  the  land."  So  Jason  consented.  And  of  this  be- 
fell things  strange  and  awful,  which  are  told  herein. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


NURSE  OF  MEDEA'S  CHILDREN. 

CHILDREN'S  GUARDIAN/ 

MEDEA. 

CHORUS  OF  CORINTHIAN  LADIES. 

KREON,  King  of  Corinth. 

JASON. 

AIGEUS,  King  of  Athens. 

MESSENGER. 

CHILDREN  OF  MEDEA. 

The  Scene  is  in  front  of  Jason's  House  at  Corinth. 

1  Padagogus. — A  trusted  servant,  responsible  for  keeping  the  boys  out 
of  harm's  way  :  he  was  present  at  their  sports,  accompanied  them  to  and 
from  school,  and  never  let  them  be  out  of  his  sight.  A  similar  institution 
is  familiar  to  Englishmen  resident  in  India. 


MEDEA 


Enter  NURSE  of  Medea  s  Children 

NURSE.    Would  God    that  Argo's    hull    had   never 
flown 
Through  those  blue  Clashing  Rocks  to  Kolchis-land ! 
Nor  that  in  Pelion's  glens  had  fallen  ever 
The  axe-hewn  pine,  nor  filled  with  oars  the  hands 
Of  hero-princes,  who  at  Pelias'  hest 
Quested  the  Golden  Fleece !     My  mistress  then, 
Medea,  to  lolkos'  towers  had  sailed  not ' 
With  love  for  Jason  thrilled  through  all  her  soul, 
Nor  had  on  Pelias'  daughters  wrought  to  slay 
Their  sire,  nor  now  in  this  Corinthian  land 
Dwelt  with  her  lord  and  children,  gladdening 
By  this  her  exile  them  whose  land  received  her; 
Yea,  and  in  all  things  serving  Jason's  weal, 
Which  is  the  chief  salvation  of  the  home, 
When  wife  stands  not  at  variance  with  her  lord. 
Now  all  is  hatred  :  love  is  sickness-stricken. 
For  Jason,  traitor  to  his  babes  and  her, 
My  mistress,  weddeth  with  a  child  of  kings, 
Daughter  of  Kreon  ruler  of  the  land. 
And,  slighted  thus,  Medea,  hapless  wife, 
Cries  on  the  oaths,  invokes  that  mightiest  pledge 
Of  the  right  hand,  and  calls  the  gods  to  witness 
From  Jason  what  requital  she  receives. 

243 


244  EURIPIDES 

Foodless  she  lies,  her  frame  to  griefs  resigned, 

Wasting  in  tears  all  those  long,  weary  hours 

Since  first  she  knew  her  outraged  by  her  lord, 

Never  uplifting  eye,  nor  turning  ever 

From  earth  her  face  ;  but  like  a  rock  or  sea-wave 

So  hearkens  she  to  friends  that  counsel  her ; 

Saving  at  whiles,  when,  turning  her  white  neck, 

All  to  herself  she  wails  her  sire  beloved, 

Her  land,  her  home,  forsaking  which  she  came 

Hither  with  him  who  holds  her  now  dishonoured. 

Now  knows  she,  hapless,  by  affliction's  teaching, 

How  good  is  fatherland  unforfeited. 

She  loathes  her  babes,  joys  not  beholding  them. 

I  fear  her,  lest  some  mischief  she  devise. 

Grim  is  her  spirit,  one  that  will  not  brook 

Mishandling :  yea,  I  know  her,  and  I  dread 

Lest  through  her  heart  she  thrust  the  whetted  knife, 

Through  the  halls  stealing  silent  to  her  bed, 

Or  slay  the  king  and  him  that  weds  his  child, 

And  get  herself  therefrom  some  worse  misfortune ; 

For  dangerous  is  she :  who  begins  a  feud 

With  her,  not  soon  shall  sing  the  triumph-song. 

But  lo,  her  boys,  their  racing-sport  put  by, 

Draw  near,  unwitting  of  their  mother's  ills, 

For  the  young  heart  loves  not  to  brood  in  grief. 

Enter  CHILDREN'S  GUARDIAN,  with  boys 
Children  s  Guardian.  O  ancient  chattel  of  my  mistress' 
home, 

Why  at  the  gates  thus  lonely  standest  thou, 

Thyself  unto  thyself  discoursing  ills  ? 

How  wills  Medea  to  be  left  of  thee? 

Nurse.  O  gray  attendant  of  the  sons  of  Jason, 

The  hearts  of  faithful  servants  still  are  touched 

By  ill-betiding  fortunes  of  their  lords. 

For  I  have  come  to  such  a  pass  of  grief, 

That  yearning  took  me  hit  her  ward  to  come 


MEDEA 


245 


And  tell  to  earth  and  heaven  my  lady's  fortunes. 

Children  s  Guardian.  CeasetH  not  yet  the  hapless  one 
from  moan  ? 

Nurse.  Cease  ! — her  pain  scarce  begun,  the  midst  far  off ! 

Children  s  Guardian.  Ah,  fool ! — if  one  may  say  it  of  his 

lords — 
Little  she  knoweth  of  the  latest  blow. 

Nurse.  What  is  it,  ancient?  Grudge  not  thou  to  tell  me. 

Children's  Guardian.  Naught :  I  repent  me  of  the  word 
that  'scaped  me. 

Nurse.  Nay,  by  thy  beard,  from  fellow-thrall  hide  not — 
Silence,  if  need  be,  will  I  keep  thereof. 

Children's  Guardian.  I  heard  one  saying — feigning  not 

to  hear, 

Astl  drew  near  the  marble  thrones,1  where  sit 
The  ancients  round  Peirene's  hallowed  fount — 
That  Kreon,  this  land's  lord,  will  shortly  drive 
These  boys  from  soil  Corinthian  with  their  mother  ? 
Howbeit,  if  the  tale  I  heard  be  true 
I  know  not ;  fain  were  I  it  were  not  so. 

Nurse.  Will  Jason  brook  his  children  suffering  this, 
What  though  he  be  estranged  from  their  mother? 

Children's  Guardian.  The  old  ties    in  the  race  lag  far 

behind 
The  new  :  no  friend  is  he  unto  this  house. 

Nurse.  We  are  undone  then,  if  we  add  fresh  ill 
To  old,  ere  lightened  be  our  ship  of  this. 

Children's  Guardian.  But  thou — for  'tis  not  season  that 

thy  lady 
Should  know — keep  silence,  and  speak  not  the  tale. 

Nurse.  Hear,  babes,  what  father  this  is  unto  you  ! 
I  curse  him — not :   he  is  my  master  still : 
But  to  his  friends  he  stands  convict  of  baseness. 

Children's  Giiardian.  What  man  is  not  ? — hast  learned 

this  only  now, 
That  each  man  loves  self  better  than  his  neighbour, 

1  So  Mahaffy,  adopted  by  Paley. 


246  EURIPIDES 

For  just  cause  some,  and  some  for  greed  of  gain? 
So,  for  a  bride's  sake,  these  their  father  loves  not. 

Nurse.  Pass  in,  dear  children,  for  it  shall  be  well. 
But  thou,  keep  these  apart  to  the  uttermost : 
Bring  them  not  nigh  their  mother  angry-souled. 
For  late  I  saw  her  glare,  as  glares  a  bull 
On  these,  as  'twere  for  mischief ;  nor  her  wrath, 
I  know,  shall  cease,  until  its  lightning  strike. 
To  foes  may  she  work  ill,  and  not  to  friends ! 

Medea  (behind  the  scenes).  O  hapless  I ! — O  miseries 

heaped  on  mine  head  ! 
Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  would  God  I  were  dead  K 

Nurse.  Lo,  darlings,  the  thing  that  I  told  you ! 

Lo  the  heart  of  your  mother  astir ! 
And  astir  is  her  anger  :  withhold  you 

From  her  sight,  come  not  nigh  unto  her. 
Haste,  get  you  within :  O  beware  ye 

Of  the  thoughts  as  a  wild-beast  brood, 
Of  the  nature  too  ruthless  to  spare  ye 
In  its  desperate  mood. 

Pass  ye  within  now,  departing 

With  all  speed.     It  is  plain  to  discern 
How  a  cloud  of  lamenting,  upstarting 

From  its  viewless  beginnings,  shall  burn 
In  lightnings  of  fury  yet  fiercer. 

What  deeds  shall  be  dared  of  that  soul, 
So  haughty,  when  wrong's  goads  pierce  her, 
So  hard  to  control  ? 

{Exeunt  CHILDREN  with  GUARDIAN. 

Medea  (behind  the  scenes).  Woe!  I  have  suffered,  have  suf- 
fered, foul  wrongs  that  may  waken,  may  waken, 
Mighty  lamentings  full   well!     ()  ye  children  accursed 

from  I  he-  womb, 


MEDEA  247 

Hence  to  destruction,  ye  brood  of  a  loathed  one  forsaken, 

forsaken ! 

Hence  with  your  father,  and  perish  our  home  in  the 
blackness  of  doom ! 

Nurse.  Ah  me,  in  the  father's  offences 

What  part  have  the  babes,  that  thine  hate 
Should  blast  them  ? — forlorn  innocences, 

How  sorely  I  fear  for  your  fate  ! 
Ah,  princes — how  fearful  their  moods  are  ! — 

Long  ruling,  unschooled  to  obey — 
Unforgiving,  unsleeping  their  feuds  are. 
Better  life's  level  way. 

Be  it  mine,  if  in  greatness  I  may  not, 

In  quiet  and  peace  to  grow  old. 
Sweeter  name  than  "  The  Mean  "  shall  ye  say  not ; 

But  to  taste  it  is  sweetness  untold. 
But  to  men  never  weal  above  measure 

Availed  :  on  its  perilous  height 
The  gods  in  their  hour  of  displeasure 
The  heavier  smite. 

Enter  CHORUS  of  Corinthian  Ladies 
Chorus.  1  have  hearkened   the  voice  of  the  daughter  of 

Kolchis,  the  sound  of  the  crying 
Of  the  misery-stricken  ;  nor  yet  is   she   stilled.     Now 

the  tale  of  her  tell, 
Gray  woman ;  for  moaned  through  the  porch  from  her 

chamber  the  wail  of  her  sighing ; 

And  I  can  not,  I  can  not  be  glad  while  the  home  in  afflic- 
tion is  lying, 

The  house  I  have  loved  so  well. 

Nurse.  Home? — home  there   is   none:   it   hath   vanished 

away ; 
For  my  lord  to  a  bride  of  the  princes  is  thrall ; 


248  EURIPIDES 

And  my  lady  is  pining  the  livelong  day 
In  her  bower,  and  for  naught  that  her  friends'  lips  say 
On  her  heart  may  the  dews  of  comfort  fall. 

Medea  (behind  the  scenes).  Would  God  that  the  flame  of  the 

lightning  from  heaven  descending,  descending, 
Might  burn  through  mine  head ! — for  in  living  wherein 

any  more  is  my  gain  ? 
Alas  and  alas !     Would  God  I  might  bring  to  an  ending, 

an  ending, 

The  life  that  I  loathe,  and  behind  me  might  cast  all  its 
burden  of  pain ! 

CHORUS.     Strophe 

O  Zeus,  Earth,  Light,  did  ye  hear  her, 
How  waileth  the  woe-laden  breath 
Of  the  bride  in  unhappiest  plight? 
What  yearning  for  vanished  delight, 
O  passion-distraught,  should  have  might 
To  cause  thee  to  wish  death  nearer — 
The  ending  of  all  things,  death  ? 

Make  thou  not  for  this  supplication  ! 

If  thine  husband  hath  turned  and  adored 
New  love,  that  estranged  he  is, 
O  harrow  thy  soul  not  for  this. 
It  is  Zeus  that  shall  right  thee,  I  wis. 
Ah,  pine  not  in  over-vexation 
Of  spirit,  bewailing  thy  lord  ! 

Medea  (behind  the  scenes).  O  Lady  of  Justice,  O  Artemis' 

Majesty,  see  it,  O  see  it — 
Look  on  the  wrongs  that  I  suffer,  my  oaths  everlasting 

who  tied 
The  soul  of  mine  husband,  that  ne'er  from  the  curse  he 

might  free  it,  nor  free  it 

From  your  vengeance ! — O  may  I  behold  him  at  last, 
even  him  and  his  bride, 


MEDEA  249 

Them,  and  these  halls  therewithal,  all  shattered  in  ruin, 

in  ruin ! — 

Wretches,  who  dare  unprovoked  to  do  to  Medea  de- 
spite ! 

O  father,  O  city,  whom  erst  I  forsook,  for  undoing,  un- 
doing,    . 

And  for  shame,  when  the  blood  of  my  brother  I  spilt 
on  the  path  of  my  flight ! 

Nurse.  Do  ye  hear  what  she  saith,  and  uplifteth  her  cry 

Unto  Themis  and  Zeus,  to  the  Suppliant's  King, 
Oath-steward  of  men  that  be  born  but  to  die  ? 
Oh,  my  lady  will  lay  not  her  anger  by 
Soon,  making  her  vengeance  a  little  thing. 

I 

CHORUS.     Antistrophe 

If  she  would  but  come  forth  where  we  wait  her, 
If  she  would  but  give  ear  to  the  sound 
Of  our  speech,  that  her  spirit  would  learn 
From  its  fierceness  of  anger  to  turn, 
And  her  lust  for  revenge  not  burn ! 
Oh,  ne'er  may  my  love  prove  traitor, 
Never  false  to  my  friends  be  it  found ! 

But  go  thou,  and  forth  of  the  dwelling 
Thy  mistress  hitherward  lead. 
Say  to  her  that  friends  be  we  all. 
O  hasten,  ere  mischief  befall 
The  lords  of  the  palace-hall ! 
For  her  grief,  like  a  tempest  upswelling, 
Resistless  shall  ruinward  speed. 

Nurse.  I  will  do  it ;  but  almost  my  spirit  despaireth 
To  win  her ;  yet  labour  of  love  shall  it  be. 
But  my  queen  on  her  thralls  as  a  mad  bull  glareth, 
Or  a  lioness  couched  mid  her  whelps,  whoso  dareth 
With  speech  to  draw  near  her,  so  tameless  is  she. 


250 


EURIPIDES 


He  should   err   not,  who   named   the   old   singers   in 

singing 

Not  cunning,  but  left-handed  bards,  for  their  lays 
Did   they   frame    for    the    mirth-tide,   the    festal    in- 
bringing 
Of  the  wine,  and  the  feast,  when  the  harp-strings  are 

ringing 
To  sweeten  with  melody  life's  sweet  days  : 

But  the  dread  doom  of  mortals,  the  anguish  heart- 
rending— 
Never  minstrel  by  music  hath   breathed  on  them 

peace, 

Nor  by  song  with  his  harp-notes    in  harmony  blend- 
ing ; 
Albeit  of  these  cometh  death's  dark  ending 

Unto  many  a  home  that  is  wrecked  of  these. 

And  yet  were  it  surely  a  boon  to  bring  healing 
Of  sorrow  to  mortals  with  song :  but  in  vain 
Mid  the  fulness  of  feasting  ring  voices  clear-pealing, 
And  the  banquet  itself  hath  a  glamour,  concealing 
From  mortals  their  doom,  flinging  spells  over  pain. 

[Exit  NURSE. 

Chorus.  I  have  heard  it,  the  sigh-laden  cry  of  the  daughter 

Of  Kolchis,  the  woe-shrilling  anguish  of  wailing 
For  the  traitor  to  love  who  with  false  vows  caught 

her, 
Who  in   strength  of  her  wrongs  chideth  Heaven, 

assailing 

The   Oath-queen   of    Zeus,   who    with    cords    all- 
prevailing 
Forth   haled    her,   and    brought    her   o'er    star-litten 

water, 

Where  the  brine-mists  hover  o'er  Pontus'  Key, 
Unto  Hellas  far  over  the  boundless  sea. 


MEDEA  251 

Enter  MEDEA 

Medea.  Corinthian  dames,  I  have  come  forth  my  doors 
Lest  ye  should  blame  me.     Many  folk  I  know 
Accounted  haughty,  some,  for  proud  staid  mien,1 
Some,  stranger-shy  :  *  and  some,  that  softly  go, 
Have  gotten  ill  repute  of  indolence. 
For  justice  sits  not  in  the  eyes  of  man, 
Who,  ere  he  hath  discerned  his  neighbour's  heart, 
Hates  him  at  sight,  albeit  nowise  wronged. 
The  sojourner  must  learn  the  city's  wont ; 
Nor  praise  I  citizens-born,  law  to  themselves, 
Mannerless  churls,  which  flout  their  fellow-folk. 
But  me — unlooked-for  fell  this  blow  on  me, 
And  brake  mine  heart.     Undone  I  am  ;  have  lost 
All  grace  of  life,  and  long  to  die,  my  friends. 
For  he  that  was  mine  all — thou  know'st  it  well — 9 
My  lord,  of  all  men  basest  hath  become. 
Surely,  of  creatures  that  have  life  and  wit, 
We  women  are  of  all  things  wretchedest, 
Who,  first,  must  needs,  as  buys  the  highest  bidder, 
Thus  buy  a  husband,  and  our  body's  master 
So  win — for  deeper  depth  of  ill  is  this. 
Nay,  risk  is  dire  herein — or  shall  we  gain 
An  evil  lord  or  good  ?    For  change  is  shame 
To  woman,  nor  may  she  renounce  her  spouse. 
And,  coming  to  new  customs,  habits  new, 
Seer  need  she  be,  to  know  the  thing  unlearned, 
What  manner  of  man  her  couch's  mate  shall  be. 
But  if  we  learn  our  lesson,  if  our  lord 
Dwell  with  us,  plunging  not  against  the  yoke, 
Happy  our  lot:  if  not — no  help  but  death. 
For  the  man,  when  at  home  they  fret  his  soul,  « 
Goes  forth,  and  stays  his  loathing  heart's  disgust, 
Unto  a  friend  or  age-mate  turning  him. 

1  Lit.   "  from  their  looks." 

*  Lit.   "as  being  <r(/ju>ol  (reserved)  when  among  strangers." 

3  Or,  reading  yiyi><a<TKftt> — "  For  he,  to  know  whom  rightly  was  mine  all." 


252 


EURIPIDES 


We  have  but  one,  one  heart  to  seek  for  comfort. 

But  we,  say  they,  live  an  unperilled  life 

At  home,  while  they  do  battle  with  the  spear. 

Falsely  they  deem  :  twice  would  I  under  shield 

Stand,  rather  than  bear  childbirth  peril  once. 

Yet  thee  and  me  the  selfsame  reasons  touch  not. 

Thine  is  this  city,  thine  a  father's  home ; 

Hast  bliss  of  life  and  fellowship  of  friends.     • 

But  I,  lone,  cityless,  and  outraged  thus 

Of  him  who  kidnapped  me  from  foreign  shores, 

Mother  nor  brother  have  I,  kinsman  none, 

For  port  of  refuge  from  calamity. 

Wherefore  I  fain  would  win  of  thee  this  boon : 

If  any  path  be  found  me,  or  device, 

Whereby  to  avenge  these  wrongs  upon  mine  husband, 

On  her  who  weds,  on  him  who  gives  the  bride, 

Keep  silence.     Woman  quails  at  every  peril, 

Faint-heart  to  face  the  fray  and  look  on  steel ; 

But  when  in  wedlock-rights  she  suffers  wrong, 

No  spirit  more  bloodthirsty  shall  be  found. 

Chorus.  This  will  I ;  for  'tis  just  that  thou,  Medea, 
Requite  thy  lord  :  no  marvel  thou  dost  grieve. 
But  I  see  Kreon,  ruler  of  this  land, 
Advancing,  herald  of  some  new  decree. 

Enter  KREON 

Kreon.  Thee  the  black-lowering,  wroth  against  thy  lord, 
Medea,  bid  I  forth  this  land  to  fare 
An  exile,  taking  thy  two  sons  with  thee, 
And  make  no  tarrying:  daysman  of  this  cause 
Am  I,  and  homeward  go  I  not  again 
Ere  from  the  land's  bounds  I  have  cast  thee  forth. 

Medea.  Ah  me !  undone  am  I  in  utter  ruin  ! 
My  foes  crowd  sail  pursuing :  landing-place 
Is  none  from  surges  of  calamity. 
Yet,  howso  wronged,  one  question  will  1  ask — 
For  what  cause,  Kreon,  dost  thou  banish  me? 


MEDEA  253 

Kreon.  I  fear  thee — need  is  none  to  cloak  my  words— 
Lest  on  my  child  thou  wreak  some  ill  past  cure. 
And  to  this  dread  do  many  things  conspire. 
Wise  art  thou,  cunning  in  much  evil  lore ; 
Chafed  art  thou,  of  thine  husband's  couch  bereft : 
I  hear  thou  threatenest,  so  they  bring  me  word, 
To  wreak  on  sire,  on  bridegroom,  and  on  bride 
Mischief.     I  guard  mine  head  ere  falls  the  blow. 
Better  be  hated,  woman,  now  of  thee, 
Than  once  relent,  and  sorely  groan  too  late. 

Medea.  Not  now  first,  Kreon — many  a  time  ere  now 
Rumour  hath  wronged  and  wrought  me  grievous  harm. 
Ne'er  should  the  man  whose  heart  is  sound  of  wit 
Let  teach  his  sons  more  wisdom  than  the  herd. 
They  are  burdened  with  unprofitable  lore, 
And  spite  and  envy  of  other  folk  they  earn. 
For,  if  thou  bring  strange  wisdom  unto  dullards, 
Useless  shalt  thou  be  counted,  and  not  wise  : 
And,  grant  thy  name  o'ertop  the  self-extolled 
Wits,  in  the  city  odious  shalt  thou  be. 
Myself  too  in  this  fortune  am  partaker. 
Of  some  my  wisdom  wins  me  jealousy, 
Some  count  me  idle  ;  some,  o'erbusy  ;  some 
Unsocial : — yet  not  over-wise  am  I. 
And  thou,  thou  fear'st  me,  lest  I  mar  thy  music. 
Not  such  am  I — O  Kreon,  dread  not  me — 
That  against  princes  I  should  dare  transgress. 
How  hast  thou  wronged  me  ?    Thou  hast  given  thy  child 
To  whomso  pleased  thee.     But — I  hate  mine  husband  : 
And,  doubtless,  this  in  prudence  hast  thou  done  ? 
Nay,  but  I  grudge  not  thy  prosperity. 
Wed  ye,  and  prosper.     But  in  this  your  land 
Still  let  me  dwell :  for  I,  how  wronged  soe'er, 
Will  hold  my  peace,  o'ermastered  by  the  strong. 

Kreon.    Soft  words  to   hear :    Ibut   lurks   mine   heart 

within 
Dread  lest  thou  plottest  mischief  all  the  while  ; 


254 


EURIPIDES 


And  all  the  less  I  trust  thee  than  before. 

The  vehement-hearted  woman — yea,  or  man — 

Is  easier  watched  for  than  the  silent-cunning. 

But  forth  with  all  speed  :  plead  me  pleadings  none. 

For  this  is  stablished  :  no  device  hast  thou 

To  bide  with  us,  who  art  a  foe  to  me. 

Medea.  Nay — by    thy    knees,    and    by  the   bride,    thy 
child! 

Kreon.  Thou  wastest  words  ;  thou  never  shalt  prevail. 

Medea.  Wilt  drive    me  forth,  respecting   naught  my 
prayers  ? 

Kreon.   Ay :    more    I    love   not   thee   than    mine   own 
house. 

Medea.  Oh,  how  I  call  thee  now  to  mind,  my  country ! 

Kreon.  Ay,  dear  to  me  is  Corinth,  next  my  children. 

Medea.  Alas  !  to  mortals  what  a  curse  is  love ! 

Kreon.  Blessing  or  curse,  I  trow,  as  fortune  falls. 

Medea.  Zeus,  may  the  cause  of  this  'scape  not  thy  ken ! 

Kreon.    Hence,    passionate   fool,    and    rid    me    of    my 
trouble. 

Medea.  Troubled  am  I,  nor  need  I  troubles  new. 

Kreon.  Soon  shalt  thou  be  by  servants'  hands  thrust 
out. 

Medea.  Nay — nay — not  this,  O  Kreon,  I  beseech  thee ! 

Kreon.  A  coil  thou  wilt  make,  woman,  as  it  seems. 

Medea.  I  will  flee  forth — not  this  the  boon  I  crave. 

Kreon.  Why  restive  then  ?— why  rid    not  Corinth  of 
thee? 

Medea.  Suffer  me  yet  to  tarry  this  one  day, 
And  somewhat  for  our  exile  to  take  thought, 
And  find  my  babes  a  refuge,  since  their  sire 
Cares  naught  to  make  provision  for  his  sons. 
Compassionate  these  :  a  father^too  art  thou 
Of  children  :  meet  it  is  thou  show  these  grace. 
Not  for  myself  I  fret,  if  I  be  banished  : 
For  them  in  their  calamity  I  mourn. 

Kreon.   My  spirit  least  of  all  is  tyrannous. 


MEDEA 


255 


Many  a  plan  have  my  relentings  marred  : 

And,  woman,  now  I  know  I  err  herein, 

Yet  shalt  thou  win  this  boon.     But  I  forewarn  thee, 

If  thee  the  approaching  Sun-god's  torch  behold 

Within  this  country's  confines  with  thy  sons, 

Thou  diest — the  word  is  said  that  shall  not  lie. 

Now,  if  remain  thou  must,  remain  one  day — 

Too  short  for  thee  to  do  the  deeds  I  dread.  [Exit. 

Chorus.  O  hapless  thou  ! 

Woe's  me  for  thy  misery,  woe  for  the  trouble  and  an- 
guish that  meet  thee ! 
Whitherward    wilt   thou    turn    thee  ? — what   welcoming 

hand  mid  the  strangers  shall  greet  thee  ? 
What  home  or  what  land  to  receive   thee,  deliverance 
from  evils  to  give  thee, 

Wilt  thou  find  for  thee  now  ? 

How  mid  surge  of   despair  to   o'erwhelm   thee  in   ruin 
God's  hand  on  thine  helm 

Hath  steered,  O  Medea,  thy  prow ! 

Medea.  'Tis  ill  done  every  way ;  who  shall  gainsay  ? 
Yet  nowise  ill  in  this  ;  deem  not  so  yet. 
Bridegroom  and  bride  grim  conflicts  yet  await ; 
Nor  troubles  light  abide  these  marriage-makers. 
Think'st  thou  that  I  had  cringed  to  yon  man  ever, 
Except  to  gain  some  gain,  or  work  some  wile  ? 
Nor  word  nor  touch  of  hand  had  I  vouchsafed  him. 
But  to  such  height  of  folly  hath  he  come, 
That,  when  he  might  forestall  mine  every  plot 
By  banishment,  this  day  of  grace  he  grants  me 
To  stay,  wherein  three  foes  will  I  lay  dead, 
The  father,  and  the  daughter,  and  mine  husband. 
And,  having  for  them  many  paths  of  death, 
Which  first  to  take  in  hand  I  know  not,  friends ; 
Whether  to  set  the  bridal  bower  aflame, 
Or  through  the  heart  to  thrust  the  whetted  knife, 
Through  yon  halls  stealing  silent  to  their  couch. 


256  EUR1PIDKS 

Yet  one  thing  bars  the  \vay — if  I  be  found 

Crossing  the  threshold  of  the  house  and  plotting, 

Die  shall  I,  and  make  mirth  unto  my  foes. 

Best  the  straight  path,  wherein  my  nature's  cunning 

Excels,  by  poisons  to  destroy  them — yea. 

Now,  grant  them  dead :  what  city  will  receive  me, 

What  host  vouchsafe  a  land  of  refuge,  home 

Secure,  and  from  the  avenger  shield  my  life? 

There  is  none.     Tarrying  then  a  little  space, 

If  any  tower  of  safety  shall  appear, 

These  deaths  by  guile  and  silence  will  I  compass; 

But  if  misfortune  drive  me  desperate  forth, 

Myself  will  grip  the  sword — yea,  though  I  die — 

And  slay,  and  dare  the  strong  hand's  reckless  deed  : 

For,  by  the  Queen  of  Night,  whom  I  revere 

Above  all,  and  for  fellow-worker  chose, 

Hekate,  dweller  by  mine  hearth's  dark  shrine, 

Not  one  shall  vex  my  soul,  and  rue  it  not. 

Bitter  and  woeful  bridal  will  I  give  them, 

Bitter  troth-plight  and  banishing  of  me. 

Up,  then  ! — spare  naught  of  all  thy  sorcery-lore, 

Medea,  of  thy  plotting  and  contriving ; 

On  to  the  dread  deed  !     Now  is  need  of  daring. 

Look  on  my  wrongs :  thou  must  not  make  derision 

For  sons  of  Sisyphus,  for  Jason's  bride — 

Thou,  sprung  from  royal  father,  from  the  Sun  ! 

Thou  know'st  means.     Yea,  our  woman-nature  'tis — 

Say  they — to  be  most  helpless  for  all  good, 

But  fashioners  most  cunning  of  all  ill. 

CHORUS.     Strophe  I 
Upward  aback  to  their  fountains  the  sacred   rivers  are 

stealing ; 

Justice  is  turned  to  injustice,  the  order  of  old  to  con- 
fusion : 

The  thoughts  of  the  hearts  of  men  are  treachery  wholly, 
and  reeling 


MEDEA  257 

From  its  ancient  foundations,  the  faith  of  the  gods  is 

become  a  delusion. 
Changes — and    changes ! — the  voice  of   the   people  shall 

crown  me  with  honour : 

My  life  shall  be  sunlit  with  glory  ;  for  woman  the  old- 
time  story 

Is  ended,  the  slanders  hoary  no  more  shall  as  chains  be 
upon  her. 

Antistrophe  i 

And   the   strains  of   the   singers  of  old   generations  for 

shame  shall  falter, 
Which  sang  evermore  of  the  treason  of  woman,  her 

faithlessness  ever. 
Alas,  that  our  lips  are  not  touched  with  the  fire  of  song 

from  the  altar 

Of  Phcebus,  the  Harper-king,  of  the  inspiration-giver ! 
Else   had    I    lifted    my  voice  in  challenge  of   song  high- 
ringing 
Unto  men :  for  the  roll  of  the  ages  shall  find  for  the 

poet-sages 

Proud  woman-themes  for  their  pages,  heroines  worthy 
their  singing. 

Strophe  2 
But  thou  from  the  ancient  home  didst  sail  over  leagues 

of  foam, 

On-sped  by  a  frenzied  heart,  and    the   sea-gates   sawest 
dispart, 

The  Twin  Rocks.     Now,  in  the  land 
Of  the  stranger,  thy  doom  is  to  waken 
To  a  widowed  couch,  and  forsaken 
Of  thy  lord,  and  woe-overtaken, 
To  be  cast  forth  shamed  and  banned. 

Antistrophe  2 

Disannulled  is  the  spell  of  the  oath :   no  shame  for  the 
broken  troth 
17 


258  ,  EURIPIDES 

In    Hellas   the    wide   doth   remain,   but   heavenward  its 
flight  hath  it  ta'en. 

No  home  of  a  father  hast  thou 
For  thine  haven  when  trouble-storms  lower. 
Usurped  is  thy  bridal  bower 
Of  another,  in  pride  of  her  power, 
Ill-starred,  overqueening  thee  now. 

Enter  JASON 

Jason.  Not  now  first,  nay,  but  ofttimes  have  I  marked 
What  desperate  mischief  is  a  froward  spirit. 
For  in  this  land,  this  home,  when  thou  might'st  stay 
Bearing  unfractiously  thy  rulers'  pleasure, 
Banished  thou  art  for  wild  and  whirling  words. 
Me  they  vex  not — cease  never,  an  thou  wilt, 
Clamouring,  "  Jason  is  of  men  most  base  !  " 
But,  for  thy  words  against  thy  rulers'  spoken, 
Count  it  all  gain — mere  exile  punishing  thee. 
For  me — still  strove  I  to  appease  the  wrath 
Of  kings  incensed :  fain  would  I  thou  shouldst  stay. 
But  thou  rein'st  not  thy  folly,  speaking  still 
Evil  of  dignities  ;  art  therefore  banished. 
Yet,  for  all  this,  not  wearied  of  my  friends, 
With  so  much  forethought  come  I  for  thee,  lady, 
That,  banished  with  thy  babes,  thou  lack  not  gold, 
Nor  aught  beside.     Full  many  an  ill  is  brought 
In  exile's  train.     Yea,  though  thou  hatest  me, 
Ne'er  can  I  harbour  evil  thought  of  thee. 

Medea.  Caitiff  of  caitiffs  ! — blackest  of  reproaches 
My  tongue  for  thine  unmanliness  can  frame — 
Thou  com'st  to  me — thou  com'st,  most  hateful  proved 
To  Heaven,  to  me,  to  all  the  race  of  men ! 
This  is  not  daring,  no,  nor  courage  this, 
To  wrong  thy  friends,  and  blench  not  from  their  eyes, 
But,  of  all  plagues  infecting  men,  the  worst, 
Even  shamelessness.     And  yet  'tis  well  thou  cam'st, 
For  I  shall  ease  the  burden  of  mine  heart 


MEDEA 


259 


Reviling  thee,  and  thou  be  galled  to  hear. 

And  with  the  first  things  first  will  I  begin. 

I  saved  thee,  as  they  know,  what  Greeks  soe'er 

Entered  with  thee  the  selfsame  Argo's  hull, 

Thee,  sent  to  quell  the  flame-outbreathing  bulls 

With  yoke-bands,  and  to  sow  the  tilth  of  death. 

The  dragon,  warder  of  the  Fleece  of  Gold, 

That  sleepless  kept  it  with  his  manifold  coils, 

I  slew,  and  raised  deliverance-light  for  thee. 

Myself  forsook  my  father  and  mine  home, 

And  to  lolkos  under  Pelion  came 

With  thee,  more  zealous  in  thy  cause  than  wise, 

And  Pelias  slew  by  his  own  children's  hands — 

Of  all  deaths  worst — so  cast  out  all  thy  '  fear. 

And  thus  of  me,  basest  of  men,  entreated, 

For  a  new  bride  hast  thou  forsaken  me, 

Though  I  had  borne  thee  children.     Wert  thou  childless, 

Not  past  forgiving  were  this  marriage-craving. 

But  faith  of  oaths  hath  vanished.     I  know  not 

Whether  thou  deem'st  the  olden  gods  yet  rule, 

Or  that  new  laws  are  now  ordained  for  men  ; 

For  thine  heart  speaks  thee  unto  me  forsworn. 

Out  on  this  right  hand,  which  thou  oft  wouldst  clasp — 

These  knees ! — how  vainly  have  we  been  embraced 

By  a  base  man,  thus  frustrate  of  our  hopes ! 

Come,  as  a  friend  will  I  commune  with  thee — 

Yet  what  fair  dealing  should  I  hope  from  thee  ?— 

Yet  will  I :  questioned,  baser  shalt  thou  show. 

Now,  whither  turn  I  ? — to  my  father's  house, 

Which,  with  my  country,  I  for  thee  cast  off? 

To  Pelias'  hapless  daughters  ? — Graciously 

Their  father's  slayer  would  they  welcome  home  ! 

For  thus  it  is  :  a  foe  am  I  become 

To  mine  own  house.     Whom  I  should  ne'er  have  harmed, 

For  grace  to  thee  I  made  mine  enemies. 

So  then  midst  Hellas'  daughters  hast  thou  made  me 

1  Or  "  Yea,  cast  out  all  their  fear." 


260  EURIPIDES 

Blest  in  return  for  all :  in  thee  have  I— 

O  wretched  I ! — a  wondrous  spouse  and  leal,1 

If  from  the  land  cast  forth  I  pass  to  exile 

Forlorn  of  friends,  alone  with  children  lone. 

A  proud  reproach  for  our  new  bridegroom  this — 

In  poverty  thy  babes,  thy  saviour,  wander ! 

O  Zeus,  ah,  wherefore  hast  thou  given  to  men 

Plain  signs  for  gold  which  is  but  counterfeit, 

But  no  assay-mark  Nature-graven  shows 

On  man's  form,  to  discern  the  base  withal  ? 

Chorus.  Awful  is  wrath,  and  past  all  balm  of  healing, 
When  they  that  once  loved  clash  in  feud  of  hate. 

Jason.  Needs  must  I  be  not  ill  at  speech,  meseems, 
But,  like  the  careful  helmsman  of  a  ship, 
With  close-reefed  canvas  run  before  the  gale, 
Woman,  of  thy  tempestuous-railing  tongue. 
I — for  thy  kindness  tower-high  thou  pilest — 
Deem  Kypris  saviour  of  my  voyaging, 
Her,  and  none  other  or  of  gods  or  men. 
A  subtle  wit  thou  hast — what  need  to  force  me 
To  tell  the  tale  how  Love,  by  strong  compulsion 
Of  shafts  unerring,  made  thee  save  my  life  ? 
Yet  take  I  not  account  too  strict  thereof ; 
For,  in  that  thou  didst  save  me,  thou  didst  well. 
Howbeit,  more  hast  thou  received  than  given 
Of  this  my  safety,  as  my  words  shall  prove : — 
First,  then,  in  Hellas  dwell'st  thou,  in  the  stead 
Of  land  barbaric,  knowest  justice,  learnest 
To  live  by  law  without  respect  of  force. 
And  all  the  Greeks  have  heard  thy  wisdom's  fame. 
Renown  is  thine  :  but  if  on  earth's  far  bourn 
Thou  dwelledst  yet,  thou  hadst  not  lived  in  story. 
Now  mine  be  neither  gold-mine  halls  within, 
Nor  sweeter  song  be  mine  than  Orpheus  sang, 
If  my  fair  fortune  be  to  fame  unknown. 

'Or,    reading    K&irurrov,    "Woe's  me  !— a   marvellous    spouse    beyond 
belief." 


MEDEA  26l 

Thus  far  of  my  great  labours  have  I  spoken — 

Since  thou  flung'st  down  this  challenge  to  dispute — 

But,  for  thy  railings  on  my  royal  marriage, 

Herein  will  I  show,  first,  that  wise  I  was  ; 

Then,  temperate  ;  third,  to  thee  the  best  of  friends 

And  to  my  children — nay,  but  hear  me  out. 

When  I  came  hither  from  lolkos-land 

With  many  a  desperate  fortune  in  my  train, 

What  happier  treasure-trove  could  I  have  found 

Than  to  wed — I,  an  exile — with  a  princess  ? 

Not — where  it  galls  thee — loathing  couch  of  thine, 

And  for  a  new  bride  smitten  with  desire, 

Nor  eager  I  to  multiply  mine  offspring — 

Suffice  these  born  to  me :  no  fault  in  them— 

But  that  we  might  with  honour  live — grave  import — 

And  be  not  straitened — for  I  know  full  well 

How  all  friends  from  the  poor  man  stand  aloof — 

And  I  might  nurture  as  beseems  mine  house 

Our  sons,  and  to  these  born  of  thee  beget 

Brethren,  and,  knitting  in  one  family  all, 

Live  happy  days.     Thou,  what  wouldst  thou  of  children  ? 

But  me  it  profits,  through  sons  to  be  born 

To  help  the  living.     Have  I  planned  so  ill? 

Not  thou  wouldst  say  it,  but  the  lost  couch  galls  thee. 

But  ye — ye  women — so  unreasoning  are 

That,  wedlock-rights  unmarred,  ye  count  all  well ; 

But  to  the  couch  if  aught  untoward  hap, 

With  the  best,  fairest  lot  are  ye  at  feud 

Most  bitter.     Would  that  mortals  otherwise 

Could  get  them  babes,  that  womankind  were  not, 

And  so  no  curse  had  lighted  upon  men. 

Chorus.    Words,  Jason,   words,  tricked   out  full   cun- 
ningly : 

Yet  to  me — though  I  speak  not  to  thy  mind — 
Unjust  thou  seem'st,  betraying  thus  thy  wife. 

Medea.  Of  many  things  I  think  not  as  think  many. 
For  in  my  sight  the  villain  subtle-tongued 


262  EURIPIDES 

Getteth  himself  for  gain  exceeding  loss, 

Who,  confident  his  tongue  can  gloze  the  wrong, 

Becomes  a  bold  knave — no  great  wisdom  this. 

So  be  not  thou,  as  touching  me,  fair-seeming 

And  crafty-tongued  :  one  word  shall  overthrow  thee  : 

Thou  shouldest,  if  not  base,  have  wed  this  bride 

With  my  consent,  not  hid  it  from  thy  friends. 

Jason.  Ay,  nobly  hadst  thou  helped  in  this  my  purpose, 
Had  I  a  marriage  named,  who  even  now 
Canst  not  refrain  thy  heart's  exceeding  wrath ! 

Medea.  Not  this  thine  hindrance,  but  the  alien  wife 
No  crown  of  honour  was  as  eld  drew  on. 

Jason.  Now  know  this  well — not  for  the  woman's  sake 
I  wed  the  royal  bride  whom  I  have  won, 
But,  as  I  said,  of  my  desire  to  save 
Thee,  and  beget  seed  royal,  to  my  sons 
Brethren,  and  for  mine  house  a  tower  of  strength. 

Medea.  No  prosperous  life  'neath  sorrow's  cloud  for  me, 
Nor  weal,  with  thorns  of  conscience  in  mine  heart ! 

Jason.  Know'st  how  to  change  thy  prayer,  and  show 

the  wiser  ? 

May  thy  good  never  seem  to  thee  thy  sorrow  ; 
Nor  in  fair  fortune  deem  thy  lot  misfortune. 

Medea.  Oh,  yea,  insult ! — Thou  hast  a  refuge,  thou  ; 
But  desolate  I  am  banished  from  this  land. 

Jason.  Thyself  hast  chosen  this :  none  other  blame. 

Medea.   I  ? — sooth,  by  wedding  and  betraying  thee  ! 

Jason.  By  cursing  princes  with  an  impious  curse. 

Medea.  Even  so — and  thus  am  cursing  now  thine  house  ? 

Jason.  With  thee  no  more  I  wrangle  touching  this. 
But  if,  or  for  the  children  or  thyself, 
For  help  in  exile  thou  wilt  take  my  gold, 
Speak:  ready  am  I  to  give  with  hand  ungrudging, 
And  send  guest-tokens  which  shall  find  thee  friends. 
If  tin's  thou  wilt  not,  foolish  shalt  thou  be: 
Refrain  wrath,  and  advantaged  shalt  thou  be. 

Medea.  Thy  friends  ! — nothing  will  I  of  friends  of  thine. 


MEDEA  263 

No  whit  will  I  receive,  nor  offer  thou. 
No  profit  is  there  in  a  villain's  gifts. 

Jason.  In  any  wise  I  call  the  gods  to  witness 
That  all  help  would  I  give  thee  and  thy  sons ; 
But  thy  good  likes  thee  not:  thy  stubborn  pride 
Spurns  friends :  I  the  more  thy  grief  shall  therefore  be. 

Medea.  Away  ! — impatience  for  the  bride  new-trapped 
Consumes  thee  while  thou  loiterest  at  the  doors ! 
Wed :  for  perchance — and  God  shall  speed  the  word — 
Thine  shall  be  bridal  thou  wouldst  fain  renounce. 

{Exit  JASON. 
CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
Love  bringeth  nor   glory  nor   honour   to   men  when  it 

cometh  restraining 

Not  its  unscanted  excess ;  but  if  Kypris,  in  measure  raining 
Her  joy,  cometh  down,  there  is  none  other  goddess  so 

winsome  as  she. 
Not  upon  me,  O  queen,  do  thou  aim  from  thy  bow  all- 

golden 

The  arrow  desire-envenomed  that   none   may  avoid — 
not  on  me ! 

Antistrophe  i 
But  let  Temperance  shield '  me,  the  fairest  of  gifts  of  the 

gods  ever-living : 
Nor  ever  with  passion  of   jarring  contention,  nor  feuds 

unforgiving, 
In  her  terrors  may  Love's  Queen  visit  me,  smiting  with 

maddened  unrest 
For  a  couch  mismated  my  soul ;   but  the  peace  of  the 

bride-bed  be  holden 

In  honour  of  her,  and  her  keen  eyes  choose  for  us  bonds 
that  be  best. 

Strophe  2 

O  fatherland,  O  mine  home, 
Not  mine  be  the  exile's  doom  ! 

1  oTryo«  (Verrall),  vice  manuscript  arrtpyoi,   "  befriend." 


264  KL'RIl'IDKS 

Into  poverty's  pathways  hard  to  be  trod  may  my  feet  not 
be  guided  ! 

Most  piteous  anguish  were  this. 
By  death — oh,  by  death  ere  then  may  the  conflict  of  life 

be  decided, 

Ended  be  life's  little  day !     To  be  thus  from  the  home- 
land divided — 

No  pang  more  bitter  there  is. 

Antistrophe  2 

We  have  seen,  and  it  needeth  naught 
That  of  others  herein  we  be  taught : 

For  thee  not  a  city,  for  thee  not  a  friend  hath  compas- 
sionated 

When  affliction  most  awful  is  thine. 
But  he,  who  regardeth  not  friends,  accursed  may  he  perish, 

and  hated, 

Who  opes  not  his  heart  with  sincerity's  key  to  the  hapless- 
fated— 

Never  such  shall  be  friend  of  mine ! 

Enter  AlGEUS. 

Aigeus.  Medea,  hail ! — for  fairer  greeting-word 
None  knoweth  to  accost  his  friends  withal. 

Medea.  All  hail  thou  also,  wise  Pandion's  son, 
Aigeus.     Whence  art  thou  journeying  through  this  land  ? 

Aigeus.  Leaving  the  ancient  oracle  of  Phoebus. 

Medea.  Why  didst  thou  fare  to  earth's  prophetic  navel? 

Aigeus.  To  ask  how  seed  of  children  might  be  mine. 

Medea.    'Fore  Heaven  ! — aye  childless  is  thy  life  till 
now  ? 

Aigeus.  Childless  I  am,  by  chance  of  some  god's  will. 

Medea.  This,  with  a  wife,  or  knowing  not  the  couch  ? 

Aigeus.  Nay,  not  unyoked  to  wedlock's  bed  am  I. 

Medea.  Now  what  to  thee  spake  Phoebus  touching  issue  ? 

Aigeus.  Deep  words  of  wisdom  not  for  man  to  inter- 
pret. 


MEDKA  265 

Medea,  Without  sin  might  I  know  the  god's  reply  ? 
Aigcus.  O  yea — good  sooth,  it  needs  the  wise  heart 

most. 

Medea.  What  said  he  ?     Say,  if  sin  be  not  to  hear. 
Aigeus.  The  wine-skin's  prominent  foot  I  should  not 

loose. 
Medea.  Till   thou  shouldst   do  what  thing,  or   reach 

what  land  ? 

Aigeus.  Till  to  the  hearth  ancestral  back  I  came. 
Medea.  And  thou,  what  wouldst  thou  sailing  to  this 

shore  ? 

Aigeus.  There  is  one  Pittheus,  King  of  Trcezen  he — 
Medea.  A  man  most  pious,  Pelops'  son,  they  say. 
Aigeus.  To  him  the  god's  response  I  fain  would  tell. 
Medea.  Yea — a  wise  man,  and  having  skill  herein. 
Aigeus.  Yea,  and  my  best-beloved  spear-ally. 
Medea.  Now    prosper    thou,   and    win    thine    heart's 

desire. 
Aigeus.  Why  droops  thine  eye? — why  this  wan-wasted 

hue  ? 

Medea.  Aigeus,  of  all  men  basest  is  mine  husband. 
Aigeus.    What    say'st    thou  ?     Clearly  tell    me   thine 

heart's  pain. 
Medea.  He  wrongs   me — Jason,  nothing    wronged  of 

me. 

Aigeus.  What  hath  he  done?     More  plainly  tell  it  out. 
Medea.  Another  wife  he    takes,  his   household's   mis- 
tress. 

Aigeus.  Ha!  hath  he  dared  in  truth  this  basest  deed? 
Medea.  Yea  :  I  am  now  dishonoured,  once  beloved. 
Aigcus.  Another  love  was  this  ? — or  hate  of  thee  ? 
Medea.    Love? — yea,    of   the    highest — traitor    he    to 

love ! 

Aigeus.  Away  with  him,  if  he  be  base  as  this  ! 
Medea.  His  love  was  for  affinity  with  princes. 
Aigeus.  Who  giveth  him  his  daughter  ?  End  the  tale. 

Medea.  Kreon,  who  ruleth  this  Corinthian  land. 
10 


266  EURIPIDES 

Aigeus.  Sooth,  lady,  reason   was   that   thou    shouldst 
grieve. 

Medea.  Tis  death  to  me!     Yea,  also  am  I  banished. 

Aigcus.  Of  whom  ?     A  new  ill  this  thou  namest  is.1 

Medea.  Kreon  from  Corinth  driveth  me  an  exile. 

Aigcns.  Doth  Jason  suffer  this? — I  praise  it  not. 

Medea.  In  pretence,  no  :  but  to  stand  firm — not  he  ! 
But  I  beseech  thee,  touching  this  thy  beard, 
Clasping  thy  knees,  and  so  become  thy  suppliant — 
Pity,  O  pity  me  the  evil-starred, 
And  see  me  not  cast  forth  to  homelessness  : 
Receive  to  a  hearth-place  in  thy  land  and  homes. 
So  by  Heaven's  blessing  fruitful  be  thy  love 
In  children,  and  in  death  thyself  be  blest. 
Thou  know'st  not  what  good  fortune  thou  hast  found : 
For  I  will  end  thy  childlessness,  will  cause 
Thy  seed  to  grow  to  sons;  such  drugs  I  know. 

Aigcus.  For  many  causes  am  I  minded,  lady, 
This  grace  to  grant  thee  :  for  the  gods'  sake  first ; 
Then,  for  the  seed  of  children  thou  dost  promise  ; 
For  herein  wholly  extinct  is  Aigeus'  name. 
But  thus  it  is — if  to  my  land  thou  come, 
I  thy  defence  essay,  in  bounds  of  justice. 
IIo\vbeit  of  this  do  I  forewarn  thee,  lady, 
From  this  land  will  I  not  consent  to  lead  thee. 
But  if  thou  readiest  of  thyself  mine  homes, 
Safe  shalt  thou  bide :  to  no  man  will  I  yield  thee. 
But  from  this  land  thou  must  thyself  escape ; 
For  blameless  will  I  be  to  allies  too. 

Medea.  So  be  it.     Yet,  were  oath-pledge  given  for  this 
To  me,  then  had  I  all  I  would  of  thee. 

Aigcus.    Ha!    dost  not    trust  me? — or   at  what  dost 
stumble? 

Medea.   I  trust  thee  :  but  my  foes  are  Pelias'  house 
And  Kreon.     Oath-bound,  thou  couldst  never  yield  me 

'Or,  "Another's  crime   thou    namest   now,"  reading   &\\ov   vice   &\\o 
ill). 


MEDEA  267 

To  these,  when  they  would  drag  me  from  the  land. 
Hadst  thou  but  promised,  to  the  gods  unpledged,1 
Thou  mightest  turn  their  friend,  might'st  lightly  yield 
To  herald-summons.     Strengthless  is  my  cause: 
Wealth  is  on  their  side,  and  a  princely  house. 

Aigeus.  Foresight  exceeding,  lady,  in  thy  words!3 
Yet,  if  this  be  thy  will,  I  draw  not  back ; 
Since  for  myself  is  this  the  safest  course, 
To  have  a  plea  to  show  unto  thy  foes ; 
And  surer  is  thy  part.     The  Oath-gods  name. 

Medea.  Swear  by  Earth's  plain,  and  by  my  father's  father 
The  Sun,  and  join  the  gods'  whole  race  thereto. 

Aigeus.  That  I  will  do  or  not  do — what?     Say  on. 

Medea.  That  from  thy  land  thyself  wilt  never  cast  me, 
Nor,  if  a  foe  of  mine  would  hale  me  thence, 
Wilt,  while  thou  liv'st,  consenting  yield  me  up. 

Aigeus.  By  Earth,  the  Sun's  pure  majesty,  and  all 
The  Gods,  I  swear  to  abide  by  this  thou  hast  said. 

Medea.  Enough.     For  broken  troth  what  penalty? 

Aigeus.  Whatso  befalleth  god-despising  men. 

Medea.  Pass  on  thy  way  rejoicing  :  all  is  well. 
I  too  will  come  with  all  speed  to  thy  burg, 
When  mine  intent  is  wrought,  my  wish  attained.. 

[Exit  AIGEUS. 

Chorus.  Now  the  Scion  of  Maia,  the  Wayfarer's  King, 
Bring  thee  safe  to  thine  home,  and  the  dream  of  thine 

heart, 

The  sweet  visions  that  wing  thy  feet,  mayst  thou  bring 
To  accomplishment,  Aigeus,  for  now  this  thing 
Hath  taught  me  how  noble  thou  art. 

Medea.  Zeus,  Justice  child  of  Zeus,  and  Light  of  the  Sun, 
Over  rny  foes  triumphant  now,  my  friends, 
Shall  we  become :  our  feet  are  on  the  path. 
Now  is  there  hope  of  vengeance  on  my  foes. 
For  this  man,  there  where  lay  my  chiefest  weakness, 

1  Reading  eu/cSjuoros  (737)  and  rdx'  (739). 

*  v.l.  rpoOvplw ;  "  Much  eagerness  to  help  thy  words  imply  ! "  (ironical), 


268  I-'  RIPIDES 

Hath  for  my  plots  a  haven  in  storm  appeared. 

To  him  my  bark's  stern-hawser  make  I  fast, 

To  Pallas'  burg  and  fortress  when  I  go. 

And  all  my  plots  to  thee  now  will  I  tell ; 

Nor  look  I  that  my  words  should  pleasure  thee — 

One  of  mine  household  will  I  send  to  Jason, 

And  will  entreat  him  to  my  sight  to  come ; 

And  soft  words,  when  he  cometh,  will  I  speak, 

Saying,  "  Thy  will  is  mine,"  and,  "  It  is  well." 

How  that  his  royal  marriage,  my  betrayal, 

Is  our  advantage,  and  right  well  devised. 

I  will  petition  that  my  sons  may  stay — 

Not  for  that  I  would  leave  on  hostile  soil 

Children  of  mine  for  foes  to  trample  on, 

But  the  king's  daughter  so  by  guile  to  slay. 

For  I  will  send  them  bearing  gifts  in  hand 

Unto  the  bride,  that  they  may  not  be  banished, 

A  robe  fine-spun,  a  golden  diadem. 

If  she  receive  and  don  mine  ornaments, 

Die  shall  she  wretchedly,  and  all  who  touch  her, 

With  drugs  so  dread  will  I  anoint  my  gifts. 

Ilowbeit  here  I  pass  this  story  by, 

And  wail  the  deed  that  yet  for  me  remains 

To  bring  to  pass;  for  I  will  slay  my  children, 

Yea,  mine:  no  man  shall  pluck  them  from  mine  hand. 

Then,  having  brought  all  Jason's  house  to  wrack, 

I  leave  the  land,  fleeing  my  dear  babes'  blood, 

And  having  dared  a  deed  most  impious. 

For  unendurable  are  mocks  of  foes. 

Let  all  go  :  what  is  life  to  me  ?     Nor  country 

Nor  home  have  I,  nor  refuge  from  mine  ills. 

Then  erred  I,  in  the  day  when  I  forsook 

Mv  father's  halls,  by  yon  Greek's  words  beguiled, 

Who  with  God's  help  shall  render  me  requital. 

never  living  shall  he  see  hereafter 
The  sons  I  hare  him,  nor  shall  he  beget 
Of  his  new  bride  a  son,  for  douined  is  she, 


MEDEA  269 

Wretch,  to  die  wretchedly  by  drugs  of  mine. 
Let  none  account  me  impotent,  nor  weak, 
Nor  meek  of  spirit ! — Nay,  in  other  sort, 
Grim  to  my  foes,  and  kindly  to  my  friends, 
For  of  such  is  the  life  most  glorious. 

Cliorus.  Since  thou  hast  made  me  partner  of  this  tale — 
Wishing  to  help  thee,  championing  withal 
The  laws  of  men,  I  say,  do  thou  not  this. 

Medea.  It  can  not  be  but  so :  yet  reason  is 
That  thou  say  this,  who  art  not  wronged  as  I. 

Chorus.  Woman,  wilt  have  the  heart  to  slay  thy  sons? 

Medea.  Yea  :  so  mine  husband's  heart  shall  most  be 
wrung. 

Chorus.  But  thou  of   wives    most  wretched   shouldst 
become. 

Medea.  So  be  it :  wasted  are  all  hindering  words. 
But  ho !  [to  the  NURSE]  go  thou  and  Jason  bring  to  me— 
Thou  whom  I  use  for  every  deed  of  trust. 
And  look  thou  tell  none  aught  of  mine  intent, 
If  thine  is  loyal  service,  thou  a  woman. 

{Exit  MEDEA  and  NURSE. 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
Oh,  happy  the  race  in  the  ages  olden 

Of  Erechtheus,  the  seed  of  the  blest  gods'  line, 
In  a  land  unravaged,  peace-enfolden, 

Aye  quaffing  of  Wisdom's  glorious  wine, 
Ever  through  air  clear-shining  brightly 
As  on  wings  uplifted  pacing  lightly, 
Where  they  tell  how  Harmonia  of  tresses  golden 

Bare  the  Pierid  Muses,  the  stainless  Nine. 

Antistrophe  I 
And  the  streams  of  Cephisus  the  lovely-flowing 

They  tell  how  the  Lady  of  Cyprus  drew, 
Anc}  in  zephyr-wafts  of  the  winds  sweet-blowing 

Breathed  far  over  the  land  their  dew. 


270  EUR  I  TIDES 

And  she  scndcth  her  Loves  which,  throned  in  glory 
By  Wisdom,  fashion  all  virtue's  story, 
Over  her  tresses  throwing,  throwing, 
Roses  in  odorous  wreaths  aye  new. 

Re-enter  MEDEA. 

Strophe  2 

How  then  should  the  hallowed  city, 
The  city  of  sacred  waters, 

Which  shields  with  her  guardian  hand 
All  friends  that  would  fare  through  her  land, 
Receive  a  murderess  banned, 
Who  had  slaughtered  her  babes  without  pity, 
A  pollution  amidst  of  her  daughters  ? 

In  thine  heart's  thoughts  set  it  before  thee — 
To  murder  the  fruit  of  thy  womb  ! 
O  think  what  it  meaneth  to  slay 
Thy  sons — what  a  deed  this  day 
Thou  wouldst  do  ! — By  thy  knees  we  pray, 
By  heaven  and  earth  we  implore  thee, 
Deal  not  to  thy  babes  such  a  doom  ! 

Antistrophe  2 

O  whence,  and  O  whence  wilt  thou  gain  thee 
Such  desperate  hardihood 
That  for  spirit  so  fiendish  shall  serve, 
That  shall  strengthen  thine  heart,  that  shall  nerve 
Thine  hand,  that  it  shall  not  swerve 
From  the  ruthless  deed  that  shall  stain  thee 
With  horror  of  children's  blood  ? 

O  how,  when  thine  eyes  thou  art  turning 
On  thy  little  ones,  wilt  thou  refrain 
The  motherhood  in  thee,  to  feel 
No  upwelling  of  tears  ? — Canst,  thou  steel 
Thy  breast  when  thy  children  kneel, 


MEDEA  271 

To  crimson  thine  hand,  with  unyearning 
Heart  for  thy  darlings  slain? 

Enter  JASON 

Jason.  Summoned  I  come  :  for,  though  thou  be  my  foe, 
This  grace  thou  shalt  not  miss  ;  but  I  will  hear 
What  new  thing,  lady,  thou  dost  wish  of  me. 

Medea.  Jason,  I  ask  thee  to  forgive  the  words 
Late-spoken,  and'  to  bear  with  that  my  mood  : 
Well  mayst  thou,  for  remembrance  of  old  loves. 
Now  have  I  called  myself  to  account,  and  railed 
Upon  myself:  "  Wretch,  wherefore  am  I  mad? 
And  wherefore  rage  against  good  counsellors, 
And  am  at  feud  with  rulers  of  the  land, 
And  with  my  lord,  who  works  my  veriest  good, 
Wedding  a  royal  house,  to  raise  up  brethren 
Unto  my  sons  ?     Shall  I  not  cease  from  wrath  ? 
What  aileth  me,  when  the  gods  proffer  boons? 
Have  I  not  children  ?     Know  I  not  that  we 
Are  exiles  from  our  own  land,  lacking  friends?" 
Thus  musing,  was  I  'ware  that  I  had  nursed 
Folly  exceeding,  anger  without  cause. 
Now  then  I  praise  thee  ;  wise  thou  seem'st  to  me 
In  gaining  us  this  kinship,  senseless  I, 
Who  in  these  counsels  should  have  been  thine  ally, 
Have  furthered  all,  have  decked  the  bridal  couch, 
And  joyed  to  minister  unto  the  bride. 
But  we  are — women  :  needs  not  harsher  word. 
Yet  evil  shouldst  thou  not  for  evil  render, 
Nor  pit  against  my  folly  folly  of  thine. 
1  yield,  confessing  mine  unwisdom  then, 
But  unto  better  counsels  now  am  come. — 
Children,  my  children,  hither  :  leave  the  house. 

Enter  CHILDREN 

Come  forth,  salute  your  father,  and  with  me 
Bid  him  farewell :  be  reconciled  to  friends 


272 

Yc,  u-ith  your  mother,  from  the  hate  o'erpast. 
Truce  is  between  us,  rancour  hath  given  place. 
Clasp  ye  his  right  hand. — Woe  for  ambushed  ills  ! 
I  am  haunted  by  the  shadow  of  hidden  things  ! 
Ah,  children,  will  ye  thus,  through  many  a  year 
Living,  still  reach  him  loving  arms  ?     Ah  me, 
Howvs\vift  to  weep  am  I,  how  full  of  fear! 
Feuds  with  your  father  ended — ah,  so  late  ! — 
Have  filled  with  tears  these  soft-relenting  eyes. 

Chorus.  And  from  mine  eyes  start  tears  of  pale  dismay. 
Ah,  may  no  evil  worse  than  this  befall ! 

Jason.  Lady,  I  praise  this  mood,  yet  blame  not  that : 
Tis  nothing  strange  that  womankind  should  rage 
When  the  spouse  trafficketh  in  alien  marriage. 
But  now  to  better  thoughts  thine  heart  hath  turned, 
And  thou,  though  late,  upon  the  victor  side 
Hast  voted  :  a  wise  woman's  deed  is  this. — 
And  for  you,  children,  not  unheedfully 
Your  sire  hath  ta'en  much  forethought,  so  help  Heaven. 
For  ye,  1  ween,  in  this  Corinthian  land 
Shall  with  your  brethren  stand  the  foremost  yet. 
Grow  ye  in  strength  :  the  rest  shall  by  your  sire, 
And  whatso  God  is  gracious,  be  wrought  out. 
You  may  I  see  to  goodly  stature  grown, 
In  manhood's  prime,  triumphant  o'er  my  foes. 
Thou,  why  bedew 'st  thou  with  wan  tears  thine  eyes, 
Turning  aback  from  them  thy  pallid  cheek, 
And  dost  not  hear  with  gladness  this  my  speech  ? 

Mt-ttt-a.  Tis  naught :    but  o'er  these  children  broods 
mine  heart. 

Jason.  Fear  not :  all  will  I  order  well  for  them. 

Mti/cd.  This  will  I  :  'Tis  not  I  mistrust  thy  words; 
But  woman  is  but  woman — born  for  tears. 

Jason.   Why,  helpless  one,  dost  make  moan  over  these? 

Medea.    I    bare  them.     When   thou    prayedst  life    for 

them, 
Pity  stole  o'er  me,  whispering,  "  Shall  this,  be?" 


MEDI.A 


273 


But  that  for  which  thou  cam'st  to  speech  of  me 
In  part  is  said  ;  to  speak  the  rest  is  mine  : l 
Since  the  king  pleaseth  forth  the  land  to  send  me, 
For  me  too  this  is  best — I  know  it  well — 
That  I  bide  not,  a  stumbling-block  to  thee 
And  the  land's  lords,  whose  house's  foe  I  seem, 
So  fare  I  forth  to  exile  from  this  land. 
But,  that  my  sons  by  thine  hand  may  be  reared, 
Entreat  thou  Kreon  that  they  be  not  banished. 

Jason.  Prevail  I  may  not,  yet  must  I  essay. 

Medea.  Nay  then,  thy  bride  bid  thou  to  pray  her  sire 
That  thy  sons  be  not  banished  from  this  land. 

Jason.  Yea,  surely  ;  and,  I  trow,  her  shall  I  win, 
If  of  her  sister  women  she  is  one. 

Medea.  I  too  will  bear  a  part  in  thine  endeavour  ; 
For  I  will  send  her  gifts  unmatched  for  beauty 
Of  all  that  men  see  now,  I  know,  by  far, 
A  robe  fine-spun,  a  golden  diadem  ; 
Our  sons  to  bear  them.     Now  must  an  attendant 
With  all  speed  hither  bring  the  ornaments. 
Blessings  shall  hers  be,  not  one,  but  untold, 
Who  winneth  thee  for  lord,  a  peerless  spouse, 
Who  owneth  ornaments  which  once  the  Sun, 
My  father's  father,  gave  unto  his  offspring  !— 
Take  in  your  hands,  my  sons,  these  bridal  gifts, 
And  to  the  happy  princess-bride  bear  ye 
And  give:  with  gifts  shall  she  be  satisfied. 

Jason.  But,  fond  one,  why  make  void  thine  hands  of 

these  ? 

Deem'st  thou  a  royal  house  hath  lack  of  robes, 
Or  gold,  deem'st  thou?     Keep  these  and  give  them  not. 
For,  if  my  wife  esteems  me  aught,  my  wish 
Will  she  prefer  to  treasures,  well  I  wot. 

1  Verrall  here  says,  "There  is  no  apparent  reason  for  the  emphatic 
pronoun  "  (iyia).  Is  it  not  that  the  object  of  the  interview  was  twofold, 
first,  to  ask  Jason's  pardon — that  had  now  been  spoken  by  him  ;  secondly, 
to  introduce  a  proposal  of  her  own,  involving  independent  action  on  her 
part? 

18 


2/4 


EURIPIDES 


Medea.  Nay,  speak  not  so  :  gifts  sway  the  gods,  they 

say. 

Gold  weigheth  more  with  men  than  words  untold. 
Hers  fortune  is;  God  favoureth  now  her  cause ; 
Young  is  her  power.     Life  would  I  give  for  ransom 
Of  my  sons'  banishment,  not  gold  alone.— 
Now,  children,  enter  ye  the  halls  of  wealth. 
Unto  your  sire's  new  wife,  my  lady-queen, 
Make  supplication,  pray  ye  be  not  exiled, 
Giving  mine  ornaments.     Most  importeth  this, 
That  she  into  her  hands  receive  my  gifts. 
Haste  ye,  and  to  your  mother  bring  glad  tidings 
Of  good  success  in  that  she  longs  to  win. 

[Exeunt  JASON  and  CHILDREN. 

CHORUS.    Strophe  i 
Now  for  the  life  of  the  children  mine  hope  hath  been 

turned  to  despairing. 
No  hope  any  more  !     On  the  slaughterward  path  even 

now  are  they  faring  ! 

The  bride  shall  receive  it,  the  diadem-garland  that  beareth 
enfolden 

Doom  for  the  hapless  mid  glittering  sheen: 
And  to  set  the  adorning  of  Hades  about  her  tresses  golden 
She  shall  take  it  her  hands  between. 

Antistrophc  i 

For  its  glamour  of  beauty,  its  splendour  unearthly,  shall 

swiftly  persuade  her 
To  bedeck  her  with  robe  and  with  gold-wrought  crown : 

she  shall  soon  have  arrayed  her 
In  attire  as  a  bride   in  the  presence  of  phantoms  from 

I  lades  uprisen  ; 

In  such  dread  gin  shall  her  feet  be  ta'en  : 
In  the  weird   of  death  shall  the  hapless  be  whelmed,  and 

from  doom's  dark  prison 

Shall  she  steal  forth  never  again. 


MEDEA 


2/5 


StropJie  2 

And  thou,  wretch,  bridegroom  accursed,  who  art  fain  of  a 
princely  alliance, 

Blasting  thou  bringest — unknowing,    unthink- 
ing !— 

Of  life  on  thy  sons,  and  thy  bride  shall  to  foul  death  plight 
her  affiance. 

How  far   from   thy   fortune    of    old   art   thou 
sinking ! 

Antistrophe  2 

And  amid  my  lamentings  I  mourn  for  thine  anguish,  O 
hapless  mother 

Of  children,  who  makest  thee  ready  to  slaugh- 
ter 

Thy  babes,  to  avenge  thee  on  him  who  would  lawlessly 
wed  with  another, 

Would  forsake  thee  to  dwell  with  a  prince's 
daughter. 

Enter  CHILDREN'S  GUARDIAN,  with  CHILDREN 
Children  s  Guardian.  Mistress,  remission  for  thy  sons 

of  exile! 

Thy  gift  the  princess-bride  with  joy  received 
In  hand  ;  and  there  is  peace  unto  thy  sons. 
Medea.  Alas! 
Children  s  Guardian.  Why  dost  thou  stand  confounded 

mid  good  hap? 

Now  wherefore  turnest  thou  thy  face  away, 
And  dost  not  hear  with  gladness  this  my  speech? 
Medea.  Woe's  me ! 
Children's   Guardian.    This  cry  is   to  the    tidings    not 

attuned. 

Medea.  Woe  yet  again  ! 

Children  s  Guardian.  Can  I  have  brought  ill  hap 

Unwitting — erred  in  deeming  these  glad  tidings? 

Medea.  As  they  are,  are- thy  tidings:  thee  I  blame  not, 


276  EURIPIDES 

Children 's  Guardian.  Why  down-drooped  is  thine  eye? 

Why  flow  thy  tears  ? 
Medea.  Needs  must  they,  ancient ;  for  these  things  the 

gods 
And  1  withal — O  fool ! — have  ill  contrived. 

Children  s  Guardian.  Fear  not :  thy  children  yet  shall 

bring  thee  home. 

Medea.  Others  ere  then  shall  wretched  I  send  home. 
Children's  Guardian.  Not  thou  alone  art  severed  from 

thy  sons. 
Submissively  must  mortals  bear  mischance. 

Medea.  This  will  I :  but  within  the  house  go  thou, 
And  for  my  children's  daily  needs  prepare. 

[Exit  CHILDREN'S  GUARDIAN. 

0  children,  children,  yours  a  city  is, 

And  yours  a  home,  where,  leaving  wretched  me, 
Dwell  shall  ye,  of  your  mother  aye  bereft. 

1  shall  go  exiled  to  another  land, 

Ere  I  have  joyed  in  you,  have  seen  your  bliss, 
Ere  I  have  decked  for  you  the  couch,  the  bride, 
The-bridal  bower,  and  held  the  torch  on  high. 
O  me  accursed  in  this  my  ruthless  mood ! 
For  naught,  for  naught,  my  babes,  I  nurtured  you, 
And  all  for  naught  I  laboured,  travail-worn, 
Bearing  sharp  anguish  in  your  hour  of  birth. 
Ah  for  the  hopes — unhappy  ! — all  mine  hopes 
Of  ministering  hands  about  mine  age, 
Of  dying  folded  round  with  loving  arms, 
All  men's  desire  !     But  now — 'tis  past — 'tis  past, 
That  sweet  imagining !     Forlorn  of  you 
A  bitter  life  and  woeful  shall  I  waste. 
Your  mother  never  more  with  loving  eyes 
Shall  ye  behold,  passed  to  another  life. 
Woe  !  woe  !  why  gaze  your  eyes  on  me,  my  darlings? 
Why  smile  to  me  the  latest  smile  of  all? 
Alas!  what  shall  I  do? — Mine  heart  is  failing 
\     I  behold  my  children's  laughing  eyes! 


MEDEA 


277 


Women,  I  can  not !  farewell,  purposes 

O'erpast !     I  take  my  children  from  the  land. 

What  need  to  wring  the  father's  heart  with  ills 

Of  these,  to  gain  myself  ills  twice  so  many  ? 

Not  I,  not  I ! — Ye  purposes,  farewell ! 

Yet — yet — what  ails  me  ?     Would  I  earn  derision, 

Letting  my  foes  slip  from  mine  hand  unpunished  ? 

I  must  dare  this.     Out  on  my  coward  mood 

That  from  mine  heart  let  loose  relenting  words ! 

Children,  pass  ye  within.  [Exeunt  CHILDREN. 

Now,  whoso  may  not 
Sinless  be  present  at  my  sacrifice, 
On  his  head  be  it :  mine  hand  faltereth  not. 
Oh  !  oh ! 

0  heart,  mine  heart,  do  not — do  not  this  deed  ! 

Let  them  be,  wretched  heart,  spare  thou  thy  babes ! 
There  dwelling  with  me  shall  they  gladden  thee.— 
No ! — by  the  nether  fiends  that  dwell  with  Hades, 
Never  shall  this  betide,  that  I  will  leave 
My  children  for  my  foes  to  trample  on. 
They  needs  must  die.     And,  since  it  needs  must  be, 
Even  I  will  slay  them — I,  who  gave  them  life. 
All  this  is  utter  doom — she  shall  not  'scape ! 
Yea,  on  her  head  the  wreath  is ;  in  my  robes 
The  princess-bride  is  perishing — I  know  it. 
But — for  I  fare  on  journey  most  unhappy, 
And  shall  speed  these  on  yet  unhappier — 

1  would  speak  to  my  sons. 

Re-enter  CHILDREN 

Give,  O  my  babes, 

Give  to  your  mother  the  right  hand  to  kiss. 
O  dearest  hand,  O.  lips  most  dear  to  me, 
O  form  and  noble  feature  of  my  children, 
Blessing  be  on  you — there  ! — for  all  things  here 
Your  sire  hath  reft.     O  sweet,  O  sweet  embrace! 
O  children's  rose-leaf  skin,  O  balmy  breath ! 
Away,  away  !     Strength  faileth  me  to  gaze 


2/8  EURIPIDES 

On  you,  but  I  am  overcome  of  evil.      \Excnnt  CHILDREN. 
Now,  now,  I  learn  what  horrors  I  intend  : 
But  passion  overmastered  sober  thought: 
And  this  is  cause  of  direst  ills  to  men. 

CHORUS 

i 
Full  oft  ere  this  my  soul  hath  scaled 

Lone  heights  of  thought,  empyreal  steeps, 
Or  plunged  far  down  the  darkling  deeps, 
Where  woman's  feebler  heart  hath  failed. 

Yet  wherefore  failed  ?     Should  woman  find 
No  inspiration  thrill  her  breast, 
Nor  welcome  ever  that  sweet  guest 

Of  Song,  that  uttereth  Wisdom's  mind? 

Alas!  not  all!     Few,  few  are  they — 
Perchance  amid  a  thousand  one 
Thou  shouldest  find — for  whom  the  sun 

Of  poesy  makes  an  inner  day. 

II 

Now  this  I  say — calm  bliss,  that  ne'er 
Knew  love's  wild  fever  of  the  blood, 
The  pains,  the  joys,  of  motherhood, 

Passeth  all  parents'  joy-blent  care. 

The  childless,  they  that  never  prove 
If  sunshine  comes,  or  cloud,  to  men 
With  babes,  far  lie  beyond  their  ken 

The  toils,  the  griefs,  of  parent-love. 

But  they  whose  halls  with  laughter  sweet 
Of  children  ring — I  mark  them  aye 
Care-fretted,  travailing  alwriv 

To  win  their  loved  ones  nurture  meet. 


MEDEA  279 

* 

III 
One  toils  with  love  more  strong  than  death  : 

Yet — yet — who  knoweth  whether  he 

A  wise  man  or  a  fool  shall  be 
To  whom  he  shall  his  wealth  bequeath  ? 

But  last,  but  worst,  remains  to  tell : 
For  though  ye  get  you  wealth  enow, 
And  though  your  sons  to  manhood  grow, 

Fair  sons  and  good — if  Death  the  fell, 

To  Hades  vanishing,  bears  down 
Your  children's  lives,  what  profit  is 
That  Heaven  hath  laid,  with  all  else,  this 

Upon  mankind,  this  sorrow's  crown  ? 

Medea.  Friends,  long  have  I,  abiding  Fortune's  hap, 
Expected  what  from  yonder  shall  befall. 
And  lo !  a  man  I  see  of  Jason's  train 
Hitherward  coming,  and  my  eager  heart 
Foretelleth  him  the  herald  of  new  ills. 

Enter  MESSENGER 
Messenger.  O  thou  who  hast  wrought  an  awful  deed 

and  lawless, 

Flee,  O  Medea,  flee,  nor  once  leave  thou 
The  sea-wain,  or  the  car  that  scours  the  plain. 

Medea.  Now  what  hath  happed  that  calleth  for  such 

flight? 

Messenger.  Dead  is  the  princess  even  now,  and  dead 
Kreon  her  father,  by  thy  poison-drugs. 

Medea.  A  glorious  tale  thou  tellest :  thou  henceforth 
Art  of  my  benefactors  and  my  friends. 

Messenger.  What  say'st?— Of  sound  mind  art  thou,  and 

not  mad  ? 

Who,  hearing  of  the  havoc  of  the  hearth 
Of  kings,  art  glad,  and  hast  no  fear  for  this  ? 

Medea.  Oh,  yea  ;  I  too  with  words  of  controversy 


280  EUR  1  TIDES 

Could  answer  thee — yet  be  not  hasty,  friend, 

But  tell  how  died  they :  thou  shouldst  gladden  me 

Doubly,  if  these  most  horribly  have  perished. 

Messenger.  When,  with  their  father,  came  thy  children 

twain, 

And  passed  into  the  halls  for  marriage  decked, 
Glad  were  we  thralls  who  sorrowed  for  thy  woes. 
And  straightway  buzzed  from  ear  to  ear  the  tale 
Of  truce  to  old  feuds  'twixt  thy  lord  and  thee. 
The  hand  one  kisseth,  one  the  golden  head 
Of  those  thy  sons :  myself  by  joy  on-drawn 
Followed  thy  children  to  the  women's  bowers. 
Now  she  which  had  our  worship  in  thy  stead, 
Ere  she  beheld  thy  chariot-yoke  of  sons, 
Aye  upon  Jason  turned  her  yearning  gaze. 
But  then  her  veil  before  her  eyes  she  cast, 
And  swept  aback  the  scorn  of  her  white  neck, 
Loathing  thy  sons'  approach  :  but  now  thy  lord, 
To  turn  the  maiden's  wrath  and  spite  aside, 
Thus  spake  :  "  Nay,  be  not  hostile  to  thy  friends : 
Cease  from  thine  anger,  turn  thine  head  again, 
Accounting  friends  whomso  thy  spouse  accounts. 
Their  gifts  receive,  and  plead  thou  with  thy  sire 
To  pardon  these  their  exile — for  my  sake." 
She,  when  she  saw  the  attire,  could  not  refrain, 
But  yielded  her  lord  all.     And  ere  their  father 
Far  from  her  bower  with  those  thy  sons  had  gone, 
She  took  the  rich-wrought  robes  and  clad  herself, 
Circling  her  ringlets  with  the  golden  crown, 
And  by  a  shining  mirror  ranged  her  tresses, 
Smiling  at  her  own  phantom  image  there. 
Then,  rising  from  her  seat,  she  paced  adown 
The  halls  with  mincing  tread  of  ivory  feet, 
Exulting  in  the  gifts,  and  oftentimes 

eping  her  glance  from  neck  to  ankle-hem. 
But  then  was  there  a  fearful  sight  to  see. 
Suddenly  changed  her  colour:  reeling  back 


MEDEA  28l 

With  trembling  limbs  she  goes;  and  scarce  in  time 

Drops  on  the  couch  to  fall  not  on  the  ground. 

Then  a  gray  handmaid,  deeming  perad venture 

That  frenzy  was  of  Pan  or  some  god  sent, 

Raised  the  prayer-cry,  before  she  saw  the  foam 

White-frothing  from  her  lips,  or  marked  how  rolled 

Her  eyeballs,  and  her  face's  bloodless  hue. 

Then  a  scream,  unaccordant,  long  and  loud, 

She  shrilled  forth.     Straight  to  her  father's  chambers  one 

Darted,  and  one  unto  her  new-made  spouse, 

To  tell  the  bride's  mischance  :  and  all  the  roof 

Echoed  with  multitudinous-hurrying  feet. 

And  a  swift  athlete's  straining  limbs  had  won 

By  this  the  goal  of  the  six-plethra  course: 

Then  she  from  trance  all  speechless  of  closed  eyes 

Awoke — ah,  wretch  ! — with  horrible-shrilling  shriek  : 

For  like  two  charging  hosts  her  agony  came — 

The  golden  coil  about  her  head  that  lay 

'Gan  spurt  a  marvellous  stream  of  ravening  fire  ; 

While  the  fine  robes,  the  gift  thy  children  brought, 

Devoured  the  white  flesh  of  the  unhappy  one. 

Upstarting  from  her  seat  she  flees,  all  flame, 

Shaking  her  hair,  her  head,  this  way  and  that, 

To  cast  from  her  the  crown  ;  but  firmly  fixed 

The  gold  held  fast  its  clasp  :  the  fire,  whene'er 

She  shook  her  locks,  with  doubled  fury  blazed. 

Then  misery-vanquished  falls  she  on  the  floor, 

Past  recognising,  save  for  a  father,  marred. 

No  more  was  seen  her  eyes'  imperial  calm, 

No  more  her  comely  features ;  but  the  gore 

Dripped  from  her  head's  crown  flecked  with  blended  fire. 

The  flesh-flakes  from  her  bones,  like  the  pine's  tears, 

'Neath  that  mysterious  drug's  devourings  melted — • 

Dread  sight — and  came  on  all  folk  fear  to  touch 

The  corpse :  her  hideous  fate  had  we  for  warning. 

But,  ignorant  of  all,  her  wretched  sire, 

Suddenly  entering,  falls  upon  her  corpse, 


282  EURIPIDES 

And  straightway  wailed  and  clasped  the  body  round. 

And  kissed  it,  crying  :  "  Oh,  my  hapless  child, 

What  god  thus  horribly  hath  thee  destroyed  ? 

Who  maketh  this  old  sepulchre  bereft 

Of  thee  ?     Ah  me,  would  I  might  die  with  thee !  " 

But,  when  from  wailing  and  from  moans  he  ceased, 

Fain  would  he  have  upraised  his  aged  frame, 

Yet  clave,  as  ivy  clings  to  laurel  boughs, 

To  those  fine  robes  :  then  was  a  ghastly  wrestling  : 

For,  while  he  laboured  to  upraise  his  knee, 

She  strained  against  him  :  if  by  force  he  haled, 

Then  from  the  bones  he  tare  his  aged  flesh. 

At  last  refrained  he,  and  gave  up  the  ghost, 

Ill-starred,  who  could  no  more  withstand  his  bane. 

There  lie  the  corpses,  child  by  aged  sire 

Clasped — such  affliction  tears,  not  words,  must  mourn. 

And  of  thy  part  no  word  be  said  by  me — 

Thyself  from  punishment  wilt  find  escape. 

But  man's  lot  now,  as  oft,  I  count  a  shadow, 

Nor  fear  to  say  that  such  as  seem  to  be 

Wise  among  men  and  cunning  in  speech-lore, 

Even  these  are  chargeable  with  deepest  folly  ; 

For  among  mortals  happy  man  is  none. 

In  Fortune's  flood-tide  might  a  man  become 

More  prosperous  than  his  neighbour  :  happy  ? — no  ! 

[Exit. 

Chorus.  Meseems  the  gods  with  many  an  ill  this  day 
Will  compass  Jason — yea,  and  rightfully. 
But  O  the  pity  of  thy  calamity, 
Daughter  of  Kreon,  who  to  Hades'  halls 
I  lust  passed,  because  with  thee  would  Jason  wed! 

Medea.  Friends,  my  resolve  is  taken,  with  all  speed 
To  slay  my  children,  and  to  flee  this  land, 
And  not  to  linger  and  to  yield  my  sons 
To  death  by  other  hands  more  merciless. 
They  needs  must  (lit-  :  and,  since  it  needs  must  be, 
Kveu  1  will  give  them  death,  who  gave  them  life. 


MEDEA  283 

Up,  gird  thee  for  the  fray,  mine  heart !     Why  loiter 
To  do  the  dread  ill  deeds  that  must  be  done  ? 
Come,  wretched  hand  of  mine,  grasp  thou  the  sword  ; 
Grasp  it — move  toward  life's  bitter  starting-post, 
And  turn  not  craven  :  think  not  on  thy  babes, 
How  dear  they  are,  how  thou  didst  bear  them  :  nay, 
For  this  short  day  do  thou  forget  thy  sons, 
Thereafter  mourn  them.     For,  although  thou  slay, 
Yet  dear  they  are,  and  I  a  wretched  woman. 

{Exit  MEDEA. 
CHORUS.     Strophe 
O  Earth,  O  all-revealing  splendour 

Of  the  Sun,  look  down  on  a  woman  accurst, 
Or  ever  she  slake  the  murder-thirst 
Of  a  mother  whose  hands  would  smite  the  tender 

Fruit  of  her  womb. 

Look  down,  for  she  sprang  of  thy  lineage  golden, 
And  by  terror  of  men  is  the  gods'  seed  holden l 

And  the  shadow  of  doom. 
But  thou,  O  heaven-begotten  glory, 
Restrain  her,  refrain  her :  the  wretched,  the  gory 
Erinnys  by  demons  dogged,  we  implore  thee, 
Cast  forth  of  the  home  ! 

A  ntistrophe 
For  naught  was  the  childbirth-travail  wasted  ; 

For  naught  didst  thou  bear  them,  the  near  and  the 

dear, 

O  thou  who  hast  fled  through  the  Pass  of  Fear, 
From  the  dark-blue  Clashing  Crags  who  hast  hasted, 

Speeding  thy  flight ! 

Alas  for  her ! — wherefore  hath  grim  Wrath  stirred  her 
Through  depths  of  her  soul,  that  ruthless  murder 

Her  wrongs  must  requite  ? 
For  stern  upon  mortals  the  vengeance  falleth 
For  kin's  blood  spilt;  from  the  earth  it  calleth, 

1  Conjecturing  irtrvn  for  manuscript  ictrvftv. 


284  EURIPI1 

A  voice  from  the  gods,  and  the  slayers  appallcth 
On  whose  homes  it  shall  light. 

[Children 's  cries  behind  t/ie  scenes.] 

Child  i.  What  shall  I  do? — How  flee  my  mother's  hands? 
Child  2.  I  know  not,  dearest  brother.     Death  is  here  ! 
Chorus.  Ah,  the   cry  ! — dost  thou    hear  it  ? — the   chil- 
dren's cry ! 

Wretch  !— woman  of  cursed  destiny  ! 
Shall  I  enter? — My  heart  crieth,  "Rescue  the  children 

from  murder  drawn  nigh  !  " 
Child  i.  Yea,  for  the  gods'  sake,  help !      Sore  is  our 

need — 

Child  2.  For  now  we  are  hemmed  in  by  the  sword's 
death-toils ! 

CHORUS 

Wretch!  of  what  rock  is  thy  breast? — of  what  steel  is 

the  heart  of  thee  moulded, 

That  the  babes  thou  hast  borne,  with  the  selfsame  hands 
that  with  love  have  enfolded 

These,  thou  hast  set  thee  to  slay  ? 
Of  one  have  I  heard  that  laid  hands  on  her  loved  ones  of 

old,  one  only, 

Even  Ino  distraught  of  the  gods,  when  Zeus'  bride  drave 
her,  lonely 

And  lost,  from  her  home  to  stray  : 
And  she  fell— ah,  wretch  !— on  the  brink  as  she  stood 
Of  the  sea-scaur :  guilt  of  her  children's  blood 
Dragged  downward  her  feet  to  the  salt  sea-flood, 

And  she  died  with  her  children  twain. 
What  ghastlier  horror  remains  to  be  wrought? 
O  bride-bed  of  women,  with  anguish  fraught, 
What  scathe  upon  mortals  ere  now  hast  thou  brought, 
What  manifold  bane  ! 

Enter  JASON 

Jason.   Women,  which  stand  nneur  unto  this  roof — 
Is  she  within  the  halls,  she  who  hath  wrought 


MEDEA  285 

Dread  deeds,  Medea,  or  in  flight  passed  thence  ? 

For  either  must  she  hide  her  'neath  the  earth, 

Or  lift  on  wings  her  frame  to  heaven's  far  depths, 

Or  taste  the  vengeance  of  a  royal  house. 

How,  trusts  she,  having  murdered  the  land's  lords, 

Scatheless  herself  from  these  halls  forth  to  flee  ? 

Yet  not  for  her  care  I,  but  for  my  sons. 

Whom  she  hath  wronged  shall  recompense  her  wrong: 

But  I  to  save  my  childen's  life  am  come, 

Lest  to  my  grief  the  kinsmen  of  the  dead 

Avenge  on  them  their  mother's  impious  murder. 

Chorus.  Wretch,  thou  know'st  not  what  depth  of  woe 

thou  hast  reached, 
Jason,  or  thou  hadst  uttered  not  such  words. 

Jason.  What  now  ? — and  is  she  fain  to  slay  me  too  ? 
Chorus.  Thy  sons  are  dead,  slain  by  the  mother's  hand. 
Jason.  Ah   me  ! — what  sayst    thou  ? — thou  hast  killed 

me,  woman  ! 

Chorus.  Thy  children  are  no  more  :  so  think  of  them. 
Jason.  How  ? — slew  them  ? — Where  ? — withip,  without, 

the  halls  ? 
Chorus.    Open,    and    thou    shalt    see    thy    children's 

corpses. 

Jason.  Shoot  back  the  bolts  with  all  speed,  serving- 
men  ! 

Unbar,  that  I  may  see  this  twofold  woe — 
The  dead,  and  her,  with  slaughter  to  requite  her. 

MEDEA  appears  in  mid  air  in  a  chariot  drawn  by  dragons 
Medea.  Why  shakest  thou  these    doors   and  wouldst 

.    unbar, 

Seeking  thy  dead  and  me  who  wrought  the  deed? 
Cease  this  essay.     If  thou  wouldst  aught  of  me, 
Say  what  thou  wilt :  thine  hand  shall  touch  me  never. 
Such  chariot  hath  my  father's  sire,  the  Sun, 
Given  me,  a  defence  from  foeman's  hand. 

Jason.  O  thing  abhorred  !     O  woman  hatefullest 


286  EURIPIDES 

To  gods,  to  me,  to  all  the  race  of  men, 

Thou  that  couldst  thrust  the  sword  into  the  babes 

Thou  bar'st,  and  me  hast  made  a  childless  ruin  ! 

Thus  hast  thou  wrought,  yet  look'st  thou  on  the  sun 

And  earth,  who  hast  dartd  a  deed  most  impious? 

Now  ruin  seize  thee ! — clear  I  see,  who  saw  not 

Then,  when  from  halls  and  land  barbarian 

To  a  Greek  home  I  bare  thee,  utter  bane, 

Traitress  to  sire  and  land  that  nurtured  thee ! 

Thy  guilt's  curse-bolt  on  me  the  gods  have  launched ; 

For  thine  own  brother  by  his  hearth  thou  slewest 

Ere  thou  didst  enter  fair-prowed  Argo's  hull. 

With  such  deeds  thou  begannest.     Wedded  then 

To  this  man,  and  the  mother  of  my  sons, 

For  wedlock-right's  sake  hast  thou  murdered  them. 

There  is  no  Grecian  woman  that  had  dared 

This — yet  I  stooped  to  marry  thee,  good  sooth, 

Rather  than  these,  a  hateful  bride  and  fell, 

A  tigress,  not  a  woman,  harbouring 

A  fiercer  nature  than  Tyrrhenian  Scylla. 

But — for  untold  revilings  would  not  sting 

Thee,  in  my  nature  is  such  hardihood— 

Avaunt,  thou  miscreant  stained  with  thy  babes'  blood ! 

For  me  remains  to  wail  my  destiny, 

Who  of  my  new-wed  bride  shall  have  no  joy, 

And  to  the  sons  whom  I  begat  and  nurtured 

Living  I  shall  not  speak — lost,  lost  to  me ! 

Medea,  I  might  have  lengthened  out  long  controversy 
To  these  thy  words,  if  Father  Zeus  knew  not 
How  I  have  dealt  with  thee  and  thou  with  me. 
'Twas  not  for  thee  to  set  my  couch  at  naught 
And  live  a  life  of  bliss,  bemocking  me! 
Nor  for  thy  princess,  and  thy  marriage-kinsman, 
Kreon,  unscathed  to  banish  me  this  land  ! 
Wherefore  a  tigress  call  me,  an  thou  wilt, 
Or  Scylla,  haunter  of  Tyrrhenian  shore ; 
For  thine  heart  have  I  wrung,  as  well  behooved, 


MEDEA  287 

Jason.  Ha !  but  thou  sorrowest  too,  thou  shar'st  mine 

ills! 

Medea.  Oh,  yea:  yet  grief  is  gain,  so  thou  laugh  not. 
Jason.  O  children  mine,  what  miscreant  mother  had 

ye  ! 

Medea.  O  sons,  destroyed  by  your  own  father's  lust ! 
Jason.  Sooth,  'twas  no  hand   of  mine  that  murdered 

them. 
Medea.  Nay,  but  thine  insolence  and  thy  new-forged 

bonds. 
Jason.  How,  claim  the  right  for  wedlock's  sake  to  slay 

them  ! 

Medea.  A  light  affliction  count'st  thou  this  to  woman  ? 
Jason.  So  she  be  wise — in  thy  sight  naught  were  good. 
Medea.  These  live  no  more :  this,  this  shall  cut  thine 

heart ! 

Jason.  They  live — ah  me  ! — avengers  on  thine  head. 
Medea.  The  gods  know  who  began  this  misery. 
Jasoji.  Yea,  verily,  thy  spirit  abhorred  they  know. 
Medea.  Abhorred  art  thou  ;  I  loathe  thy  bitter  tongue. 
Jason.  And  I  thine — yet  were  mutual  riddance  easy. 
Medea.  How  then  ? — what  shall  I  do  ? — fain  would   I 

this. 

» 

Jason.  Yield  me  my  dead  to  bury  and  bewail. 

Medea.  Never :  with  this  hand  will  I  bury  them, 
To  Mountain  Here's  precinct  bearing  them, 
That  never  foe  may  do  despite  to  them, 
Rifling  their  tomb.     This  land  of  Sisyphus 
Will  I  constrain  with  solemn  festival 
And  rites  to  atone  for  this  unhallowed  murder. 
But  I— I  go  unto  Erechtheus'  land, 
With  Aigeus  to  abide,  Pandion's  son. 
Thou,  as  is  meet,  foul  wretch,  shalt  foully  die, 
By  Argo's  wreckage  smitten  on  the  skull, 
Now  thou  hast  seen  this  bridal's  bitter  ending. 

Jason.  Now  the  Fury-avenger  of  children  smite  thee, 
And  Justice  that  looketh  on  murder  requite  thee! 


288  Kl'KIl'IDKS 

Medea.   What  god  or  what  spirit  will  heed  thy  request, 

Caitiff  forsworn,  who  betrayest  the  guest  ? 
Jason.  A  vaunt,  foul  thing  by  whose  deed  thy  children 

have  died ! 
Medea.  Go   hence   to  thine   halls,   thence  lead   to  the 

grave  thy  bride ! 
Jason.  I  go,  a  father  forlorn  of  the  two  sons  reft  from 

his  home ! 
Medea.  Not  yet  dost  thou  truly  mourn  :  abide  till  thine 

old  age  come. 

Jason.  O  children  beloved  above  all ! 
Medea.  Of  their  mother  beloved,  not  of  thee. 

Jason.  Yet  she  slew  them  ! 
Medea.  That  thou  mightest  fall  in  the  net  that 

thou  spreadest  for  me. 
Jason.  Woe's  me !     I  yearn  with  my  lips  to  press 

My  sons'  dear  lips  in  my  wretchedness. 
Medea.    Ha !  now  art    thou    calling    upon    them,  now 

wouldst  thou  kiss, 
Who  rejectedst  them  then? 

Jason.  For  the  gods'  sake  grant  me  but  this, 

The  sweet  soft  flesh  of  my  children  to  feel  ! 

Medea.  No — wasted  in  air  is  all  thine  appeal. 
Jason.  O  Zeus,  dost  thou  hear  it,  how  spurned  I  am  ?— 
What  outrage  I  suffer  of  yonder  abhorred 
Child-murderess,  yonder  tigress-dam  ? 
Yet  out  of  mine  helplessness,  out  of  my  shame, 
I  bewail  my  beloved,  I  call  to  record 
High  Heaven,  I  bid  God  witness  the  word, 

That  my  sons  thou  hast  slain,  and  withholdest  me 
Th;.c  mine  hands  may  not  touch  thorn,  nor  bury  their  clay  ! 
Would  God  I  had  gotten  them  never,  this  day 
To  behold  them  destroyed  of  thee ! 
Chorus.  All  dooms  be  of  Zeus  in  Olympus;  'tis  his  to 

reveal  them. 

Manifold    things    unhoped-for   the   gods    to    accomplish- 
ment bring. 


MEDEA  289 

And  the  things  that  we  looked  for,  the  gods  deign  not  to 

fulfil  them ; 

And  the  paths  undiscerned  of  our  eyes,  the  gods  unseal 
them. 

So  fell  this  marvellous  thing. 

[Exeunt  omnes. 


THE   CLOUDS  OF   ARISTOPHANES 


TRANSLATED    BY 

WILLIAM   JAMES    HICKIE 


ARISTOPHANES,  the  greatest  of  Attic  comedians,  and  one  of  the  great- 
est of  all  times,  was  born  about  450  H.  c.  Very  little  is  known  of  his  life. 
He  is  supposed  not  to  have  been  of  pure  Attic  blood,  and  his  father  is 
said  to  have  been  a  property-holder  of  /F.gina.  He  had  three  sons — 
Philippus,  Araros,  and  Nicostratos — who  were  all  comic  poets.  Through- 
out his  life  Aristophanes  championed  the  cause  of  the  aristocratic  ele- 
ment of  Athenian  society.  He  bitterly  opposed,  and  in  turn  held  up  to 
the  highest  ridicule,  everything  that  savoured  in  the  least  of  demagogism 
or  popular  sophistry.  lie  began  his  career  with  "The  Banqueters,"  in 
427  is.  C.,  and  continued  to  produce  popular  plays  until  his  death,  about 
3*5  H.  c.  Of  the  fifty  or  more  plays  that  he  is  said  to  have  written,  ele\en 
M  preserved:  "  The  Acharnians,"  "  The  Knights,"  "The  ('ha: 

"  The  Wasps,"  "  The  Peace,"  "  The  Birds,"  "  I.ysistiata, I  In 

phoria/usa.-,"  "The  Frogs,"  "The  Kc< -lesiaxusa-,"  and  "  1'lutus."  From 
the  beginning  of  his  public  career  Aristophanes  was  the  sworn  enemy  of 
Euripides,  and  after  the  death  of  the  latter  "The  Frogs"  was  written 
(405  n.  c.)  to  extol  ^Eschylus  by  belittling  the  life  and  art  of  Kunpides. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


STREPSIADES. 

PHIDIPPIDES. 

SERVANT  OF  STREPSIADES. 

DISCIPLES  OF  SOCRATES. 

SOCRATES. 

CHORUS  OF  CLOUDS. 

JUST  CAUSE. 

UNJUST  CAUSE. 

PASTAS. 

AMYNIAS. 

WITNESS. 

CH/EREPHON. 

SCENE  :  The  interior  of  a  sleeping-apartment ;  STREP- 
SIADES, PHIDIPPIDES,  and  two  servants  are  in  their  beds; 
a  small  house  is  seen  at  a  distance.  Time:  midnight. 


THE    CLOUDS 


STREPSIADES  (sitting  up  in  his  bed}.  Ah  me!  ah  me  ! 
O  King  Jupiter,  of  what  a  terrible  length  the  nights 
are  !  Will  it  never  be  day  ?  And  yet  long  since  I 
heard  the  cock.  My  domestics  are  snoring ;  but  they 
would  not  have  done  so  heretofore !  May  you  perish 
then,  O  war !  for  many  reasons ;  because  I  may  not  even 
punish  my  domestics.  Neither  does  this  excellent  youth 
awake  through  the  night;  but  takes  his  ease,  wrapped  up 
in  five  blankets.  Well,  if  it  is  the  fashion,  let  us  snore 
wrapped  up.  [Lies  down,  and  then  almost  immediately 
starts  up  again. ~\ 

But  I  am  not  able,  miserable  man,  to  sleep,  being  tor- 
mented by  my  expenses,  and  my  stud  of  horses,  and  my 
debts,  through  this  son  of  mine.  He,  with  his  long  hair, 
is  riding  horses  and  driving  curricles,  and  dreaming  of 
horses ;  while  I  am  driven  to  distraction,  as  I  see  the 
moon  bringing  on  the  twentieths ;  for  the  interest  is  run- 
ning on. — Boy  !  light  a  lamp,  and  bring  forth  my  tablets, 
that  I  may  take  them  and  read  to  how  many  I  am  indebt- 
ed, and  calculate  the  interest.  [Enter  boy  with  a  light  and 
tablets^}  Come,  let  me  see ;  what  do  I  owe  ?  Twelve 
minas  to  Pasias.  Why  twelve  minae  to  Pasias  ?  Why  did 
I  borrow  them?  When  I  bought  the  blood-horse.  Ah 
me,  unhappy  !  Would  that  it  had  had  its  eye  knocked 
out  with  a  stone  first ! 

295 


296  AKlSToni. \NF.S 

Phidippides  (talking  in  his  sleep}.  You  are  acting  unfairly, 
Philo  !  Drive  on  your  own  course. 

Strep.  This  is  the  bane  that  has  destroyed  me ;  for 
even  in  his  sleep  he  dreams  about  horsemanship. 

Phid.  How  many  courses  will  the  war-chariots 
run? 

Strep.  Many  courses  do  you  drive  me,  your  father. — 
But  what  debt  came  upon  me  after  Pasias?  Three  minae 
to  Amynias  for  a  little  chariot  and  pair  of  wheels. 

Phid.  Lead  the  horse  home,  after  having  given  him  a 
good  rolling. 

Strep.  O  foolish  youth,  you  have  rolled  me  out  of 
my  possessions ;  since  I  have  been  cast  in  suits,  and 
others  say  that  they  will  have  surety  given  them  for  the 
interest. 

Phid.  (awaking).  Pray,  father,  why  are  you  peevish,  and 
toss  about  the  whole  night? 

Strep.  A  bailiff  out  of  the  bedclothes  is  biting  me. 

Phid.  Suffer  me,  good  sir,  to  sleep  a  little. 

Strep.  Then,  do  you  sleep  on ;  but  know  that  all  these 
debts  will  turn  on  your  head.  [PHIDIPPIDES  falls  asleep 
again.'}  Alas!  would  that  the  match-maker  had  perished 
miserably,  who  induced  me  to  marry  your  mother.  For 
a  country  life  used  to  be  most  agreeable  to  me,  dirty,  un- 
trimmed,  reclining  at  random,  abounding  in  bees,  and 
sheep,  and  oil-cake.  Then  I,  a  rustic,  married  a  niece  of 
Megacles,  the  son  of  Megacles,  from  the  city,  haughty, 
luxurious,  and  Ccesyrafied.  When  I  married  her,  I  lav 
with  her  redolent  of  new  wine,  of  the  cheese-crate,  and 
abundance  of  wool ;  but  she,  on  the  contrary,  of  ointment, 
saffron,  wanton-kisses,  extravagance,  gluttony,  and  of 
Colias  and  Genetyllis.  I  will  not  indeed  say  that  she  was 
idle ;  but  she  wove.  And  I  used  to  show  her  this  cloak 
by  way  of  pretext,  and  say,  "  Wife,  you  weave  at  a  great 
rate." 

SERVANT  re-enters 

Servant.  We  have  no  oil  in  the  lamp. 


THE   CLOUDS  597 

Strep.  Ah  me !  why  did  you  light  the  thirsty  lamp  ? 
Come  hither,  that  you  may  weep  ! 

Scr.  For  what,  pray,  shall  I  weep  ? 

Strep.  Because  you  put  in  one  of  the  thick  wicks.  [SER- 
VANT runs  oittJ] — After  this,  when  this  son  was  born  to  us, 
to  me,  forsooth,  and  to  my  excellent  wife,  we  squabbled 
then  about  the  name :  for  she  was  for  adding  tV-Tro?  to  the 
name,  Xanthippus,  or  Charippus,  or  Callippides ;  but  I 
was  for  giving  him  the  name  of  his  grandfather,  Phido- 
nides.  For  a  time  therefore  we  disputed  ;  and  then  at 
length  we  agreed,  and  called  him  Phidippides.  She  used 
to  take  this  son  and  fondle  him,  saying,  "  When  you,  being 
grown  up,  shall  drive  your  chariot  to  the  city,  like  Meg- 
acles,  with  a  xystis."  But  I  used  to  say,  "  Nay,  rather, 
when  dressed  in  a  leathern  jerkin,  you  shall  drive  your 
goats  from  Phelleus,  like  your  father.  He  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  my  words,  but  poured  a  horse-fever  over  my  prop- 
erty. Now,  therefore,  by  meditating  the  whole  night,  I 
have  discovered  one  path  for  my  course  extraordinarily 
excellent ;  to  which  if  I  persuade  this  youth  I  shall  be 
saved.  But  first  I  wish  to  awake  him.  How  then  can  I 
awake  him  in  the  most  agreeable  manner? — How?  Phidip- 
pides, my  little  Phidippides? 

Phid.  What,  father? 

Strep.  Kiss  me,  and  give  me  your  right  hand ! 

Phid.  There.     What's  the  matter? 

Strep.  Tell  me,  do  you  love  me  ? 

Phid.  Yes,  by  this  Equestrian  Neptune. 

Strep.  Nay,  do  not  by  any  means  mention  this  Eques- 
trian to  me,  for  this  god  is  the  author  of  my  misfortunes. 
But,  if  you  really  love  me  from  your  heart,  my  son, 
obey  me. 

Phid.  In  what  then,  pray,  shall  I  obey  you? 

Strep.  Reform  your  habits  as  quickly  as  possible  ;  and 
go  and  learn  what  I  advise. 

Phid.  Tell  me  now,  what  do  you  prescribe? 

Strep.  And  will  you  obey  me  at  all  ? 


298  ARISTorilANT.S 

Phid.  By  Bacchus,  I  will  obey  you. 

Strep.  Look  this  way  then  !  Do  you  see  this  little 
door  and  little  house  ? 

Phid.   I  see  it.     What  then,  pray,  is  this,  father  ? 

Strep.  This  is  a  thinking-shop  of  wise  spirits.  There 
dwell  men  who  in  speaking  of  the  heavens  persuade 
people  that  it  is  an  oven,  and  that  it  encompasses  us, 
and  that  we  are  the  embers.  These  men  teach,  if  one 
give  them  money,  to  conquer  in  speaking,  right  or 
wrong. 

Phid.  Who  are  they  ? 

Strep.  I  do  not  know  the  name  accurately.  They  are 
minute  philosophers,  noble  and  excellent. 

Phid.  Bah  !  they  are  rogues ;  I  know  them.  You 
mean  the  quacks,  the  pale-faced  wretches,  the  bare-footed 
fellows,  of  whose  number  are  the  miserable  Socrates  and 
Cha^rephon. 

Strep.  Mold !  hold  !  be  silent !  Do  not  say  anything 
foolish.  But,  if  you  have  any  concern  for  your  lather's 
patrimony,  become  one  of  them,  having  given  up  vour 
horsemanship. 

PJiid.  \  would  not,  by  Bacchus,  if  even  you  were  to 
give  me  the  pheasants  which  Leogoras  rears! 

Strep.  Go,  I  entreat  you,  dearest  of  men,  go  and  be 
taught. 

Phid.   Why,  what  shall  I  learn? 

Strep.  They  say  that  among  them  are  both  the  two 
causes — the  better  cause,  whichever  that  is,  and  the 
worse:  they  say  that  the  one  of  these  two  causes,  the 
worse,  prevails,  though  it  speaks  on  the  unjust  side.  If 
therefore  you  learn  for  me  this  unjust  cause,  I  would  not 
pay  to  any  one,  not  even  an  oboltis  of  these  debts,  which 
I  owe  at  present  on  your  account. 

Pliid.  \  can  not  comply;  for  I  should  not  dare  to  look 
upon  the  knights,  having  lost  all  inv  colour. 

Strep.  Then,  by  Ceres,  you  shall  not.  eat  any  of  my 
goods!  neither  von,  nor  your  draught-horse,  nor  your 


THE   CLOUDS  299 

blood-horse  ;  but  I  will  drive  you  out  of  my  house  to  the 
crows. 

Phid.  My  uncle  Megacles  will  not  permit  me  to  be 
without  a  horse.  But  I'll  go  in,  and  pay  no  heed  to  you. 

[Exit    PlIIDIPPIDES. 

Strep,  Though  fallen,  still  I  will  not  lie  prostrate :  but 
having  prayed  to  the  gods,  I  will  go  myself  to  the  think- 
ing-shop and  get  taught.  How,  then,  being  an  old  man, 
and  having  a  bad  memory,  and  dull  of  comprehension, 
shall  I  learn  the  subtleties  of  refined  disquisitions? — I 
must  go.  Why  thus  do  I  loiter  and  not  knock  at  the 
door  ?  {Knocks  at  the  door.']  Boy  !  little  boy  ! 

Disciple  (front  withiii).  Go  to  the  devil !  Who  is  it 
that  knocked  at  the  door  ? 

Strep.  Strepsiades,  the  son  of  Phidon,  of  Cicynna. 

Dis.  You  are  a  stupid  fellow,  by  Jove !  who  have 
kicked  against  the  door  so  very  carelessly,  and  have 
caused  the  miscarriage  of  an  idea  which  I  had  con- 
ceived. 

Strep.  Pardon  me ;  for  1  dwell  afar  in  the  country. 
But  tell  me  the  thing  which  has  been  made  to  miscarry. 

Dis.  It  is  not  lawful  to  mention  it,  except  to  disciples. 

Strep.  Tell  it,  then,  to  me  without  fear;  for  I  here  am 
come  as  a  disciple  to  the  thinking-shop. 

Dis.  I  will  tell  you ;  but  you  must  regard  these  as 
mysteries.  Socrates  lately  asked  Chserephon  about  a 
flea,  how  many  of  its  own  feet  it  jumped  ;  for  after  hav- 
ing bit  the  eyebrow  of  Chasrephon  it  leaped  away  on  to 
the  head  of  Socrates. 

Strep.  How,  then,  did  he  measure  this  ? 

Dis.  Most  cleverly.  He  melted  some  wax,  and  then 
took  the  flea  and  dipped  its  feet  in  the  wax ;  and  then  a 
pair  of  Persian  slippers  stuck  to  it  when  cooled.  Having 
gently  loosened  these,  he  measured  back  the  distance. 

Strep.  O  King  Jupiter  !  what  subtlety  of  thought ! 

Dis.  What  then  would  you  say  if  you  heard  another 
contrivance  of  Socrates? 


300  ARISTOPIIAXKS 

Strep.  Of  what  kind  ?     Tell  me,  I  beseech  you  ! 

Dis.  Chaerephon  the  Sphettian  asked  him  whether  he 
thought  gnats  buzzed  through  the  mouth  or  the  breech. 

Strep.   What,  then,  did  he  say  about  the  gnat? 

Dis.  He  said  the  intestine  of  the  gnat  was  narrow, 
and  that  the  wind  went  forcibly  through  it,  being  slender, 
straight  to  the  breech  ;  and  then  that  the  rump,  being 
hollow  where  it  is  adjacent  to  the  narrow  part,  resounded 
through  the  violence  of  the  wind. 

Strep.  The  rump  of  gnats  then  is  a  trumpet!  Oh,  thrice 
happy  he  for  his  sharp-sightedness  !  Surely  a  defendant 
might  easily  get  acquitted  who  understands  the  intestine 
of  the  gnat. 

Dis.  But  he  was  lately  deprived  of  a  great  idea  by  a 
lizard. 

Strep.  In  what  way  ?     Tell  me. 

Dis.  As  he  was  investigating  the  courses  of  the  moon 
and  her  revolutions,  then  as  he  was  gaping  upward  a 
lizard  in  the  darkness  dropped  upon  him  from  the  roof. 

Strep.  I  am  amused  at  a  lizard's  having  dropped  on 
Socrates. 

Dis.  Yesterday  evening  there  was  no  supper  for  us. 

Strep.  Well.  What  then  did  he  contrive  for  provi- 
sions ? 

Dis.  He  sprinkled  fine  ashes  on  the  table,  and  bent  a 
little  spit,  and  then  took  it  as  a  pair  of  compasses  and 
filched  a  cloak  from  the  Palsestra. 

Strep.  Why  then  do  we  admire  that  Thales?  Open, 
open  quickly  the  thinking-shop,  and  show  to  me  Socrates 
as  quickly  as  possible.  For  I  desire  to  be  a  disciple-. 
Come,  open  the  door.  [  The  door  of  tJie  thinking-shop  opens, 
and  the  pupih  of  S<  ><  •]<  ATI-is  nre  seen  all  with  tJicir  heads  fixed 
on  the  ground,  while  SOCKATKS  Jiimselfis  seen  suspended  in  fhe 
air  in  a  basket^}  O  Hercules,  from  what  country  are  these 
wild  be;i 

Dis.  Wh:it  do  you  wonder  at?  To  what  do  they  seem 
to  you  to  be  like  ? 


THE   CLOUDS 


301 


Strep.  To  the  Spartans  who  were  taken  at  Pylos.  But 
why  in  the  world  do  these  look  upon  the  ground  ? 

Dis.  They  are  in  search  of  the  things  below  the  earth. 

Strep.  Then  they  are  searching  for  roots.  Do  not, 
then,  trouble  yourselves  about  this;  for  I  know  where 
there  are  large  and  fine  ones.  Why,  what  are  these 
doing,  who  are  bent  down  so  much? 

Dis.  These  are  groping  about  in  darkness  under  Tar- 
tarus. 

Strep.  Why  then  does  their  rump  look  toward  heaven? 

Dis.  It  is  getting  taught  astronomy  alone  by  itself. 
[Turning  to  tJie  pupils^\  But  go  in,  lest  he  meet  with  us. 

Strep.  Not  yet,  not  yet ;  but  let  them  remain,  that  I 
may  communicate  to  them  a  little  matter  of  my  own. 

Dis.  It  is  not  permitted  to  them  to  remain  without  in 
the  open  air  for  a  very  long  time.  \The  pupils  retire. 

Strep,  (discovering  a  variety  of  mathematical  instruments). 
Why,  what  is  this,  in  the  name  of  heaven  ?  Tell  me. 

Dis.  This  is  Astronomy. 

Strep.   But  what  is  this  ? 

Dis.  Geometry. 

Strep.  What  then  is  the  use  of  this? 

Dis.  To  measure  out  the  land. 

Strep.   What  belongs  to  an  allotment  ? 

Dis.  No,  but  the  whole  earth. 

Strep.  You  tell  me  a  clever  notion ;  for  the  contriv- 
ance is  democratic  and  useful. 

Dis.  {pointing  to  a  map}.  See,  here's  a  map  of  the 
whole  earth.  Do  you  see  ?  this  is  Athens. 

Strep.  What  say  you?  I  don't  believe  you;  for  I  do 
not  see  the  Dicasts  sitting. 

Dis.  Be  assured  that  this  is  truly  the  Attic  territory. 

Strep.  Why,  where  are  my  fellow-tribesmen  of  Ci- 
cynna  ? 

Dis.  Here  they  are.  And  Eubcea  here,  as  you  see,  is 
stretched  out  a  long  way  by  the  side  of  it  to  a  great  dis- 
tance. 


302 


ARISTOPHANES 


Strep.  I  know  that ;  for  it  was  stretched  by  us  and 
Pericles.  But  where  is  Lacedsemon? 

Dis.   Where  is  it?     Here  it  is. 

Strep.  How  near  it  is  to  us  !  Pay  great  attention  to 
this,  to  remove  it  very  far  from  us. 

Dis.  By  Jupiter,  it  is  not  possible. 

Strep.  Then  you  will  weep  for  it.  [Looking  up  and  dis- 
covering SOCRATES.]  Come,  who  is  this  man  who  is  in 
the  basket  ? 

Dis.  Himself. 

Strep.  Who's  "  Himself  "? 

Dis.  Socrates. 

Strep.  O  Socrates !  Come,  you  sir,  call  upon  him 
loudly  for  me. 

Dis.  Nay,  rather,  call  him  yourself ;  for  I  have  no 
leisure.  [Exit  DISCIPLE. 

Strep.  Socrates !  my  little  Socrates  !  • 

Socrates.  Why  callest  thou  me,  thou  creature  of  a  day  ? 

Strep.  First  tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  what  you  are 
doing. 

Soc.  I  am  walking  in  the  air,  and  speculating  about 
the  sun. 

Strep.  And  so  you  look  down  upon  the  gods  from 
your  basket,  and  not  from  the  earth  ? 

Soc.  For  I  should  never  have  rightly  discovered  things 
celestial  if  I  had  not  suspended  the  intellect,  and  mixed 
the  thought  in  a  subtle  form  with  its  kindred  air.  But  if, 
being  on  the  ground,  I  speculated  from  below  on  things 
above,  I  should  never  have  discovered  them.  For  the 
earth  forcibly  attracts  to  itself  the  meditative  moisture. 
Water-cresses  also  suffer  the  very  same  thing. 

Strep.  What  do  you  say? — Does  meditation  attract  the 
moisture  to  the  water-cresses  ?  Come  then,  my  little  Soc- 
rates, descend  to  me,  that  you  may  teach  me  those  things, 
for  the  sake  of  which  I  have  come.  [SOCKATKS  lowers 
himself  and  gets  out  of  tin-  basket.  \ 

Soc.   And  for  what  did  YOU  come? 


THE   CLOUDS  303 

Strep.  Wishing-  to  learn  to  speak ;  for,  by  reason  of 
usury,  and  most  ill-natured  creditors,  I  am  pillaged  and 
plundered,  and  have  my  goods  seized  for  debt. 

Soc.  How  did  you  get  in  debt  without  observing  it  ? 

Strep.  A  horse-disease  consumed  me — terrible  at  eat- 
ing. But  teach  me  the  other  one  of  your  two  causes, 
that  which  pays  nothing ;  and  I  will  swear  by  the  gods,  I 
will  pay  down  to  you  whatever  reward  you  exact  of  me. 

Soc.  By  what  gods  will  you  swear?  for,  in  the  first 
place,  gods  are  not  a  current  coin  with  us. 

Strep.  By  what  do  you  swear?  By  iron  money,  as  in 
Byzantium  ? 

Soc.  Do  you  wish  to  know  clearly  celestial  matters, 
what  they  rightly  are  ? 

Strep.  Yes,  by  Jupiter,  if  it  be  possible ! 

Soc.  And  to  hold  converse  with  the  Clouds,  our  divini- 
ties ? 

Strep.  By  all  means. 

Soc.  (with  great  solemnity).  Seat  yourself,  then,  upon 
the  sacred  couch. 

Strep.  Well,  I  am  seated  ! 

Soc.  Take,  then,  this  chaplet. 

Strep.  For  what  purpose  a  chaplet  ? — Ah  me  !  Socra- 
tes, see  that  you  do  not  sacrifice  me  like  Athamas  ! 

Soc.  No  ;  we  do  all  these  to  those  who  get  initiated. 

Strep.  Then  what  shall  I  gain,  pray? 

Soc.  You  shall  become  in  oratory  a  tricky  knave,  a 
thorough  rattle,  a  subtle  speaker. — But  keep  quiet. 

Strep.  By  Jupiter  !  you  will  not  deceive  me ;  for  if  I 
am  besprinkled,  I  shall  become  fine  flour. 

Soc.  It  becomes  the  old  man  to  speak  words  of  good 
omen,  and  to  hearken  to  my  prayer. — O  sovereign  King, 
immeasurable  Air,  who  keepest  the  earth  suspended,  and 
thou  bright  JEther,  and  ye  august  goddesses,  the  Clouds 
sending  thunder  and  lightning,  arise,  appear  in  the  air,  O 
mistresses,  to  your  deep  thinker! 

Strep.  Not  yet,  not  yet,  till  I  wrap  this  around  me,  lest 


304  ARISroi'IIA 

I  be  wet  through.  To  think  of  my  having  come  from 
home  without  even  a  cap,  unlucky  man  ! 

Soc.  Come  then,  ye  highly  honoured  Clouds,  for  a  dis- 
play to  this  man.  Whether  ye  are  sitting  upon  the  sacred 
snow-covered  summits  of  Olympus,  or  in  the  gardens  of 
Father  Ocean  form  a  sacred  dance  with  the  Nymphs,  or 
draw  in  golden  pitchers  the  streams  of  the  waters  of  the 
Nile,  or  inhabit  the  Maeotic  lake,  or  the  snowy  rock  of 
Mimas,  hearken  to  our  prayer,  and  receive  the  sacrifice, 
and  be  propitious  to  the  sacred  rites.  \TIie  following  song 
is  heard  at  a  distance,  accompanied  by  loud  claps  of  thunder. ~\ 

Chorus.  Eternal  Clouds  !  let  us  arise  to  view  with  our 
dewy,  clear-bright  nature,  from  loud-sounding  Father 
Ocean  to  the  wood-crowned  summits  of  the  lofty  moun- 
tains, in  order  that  we  may  behold  clearly  the  far-seen 
watch-towers,  and  the  fruits,  and  the  fostering,  sacred 
earth,  and  the  rushing  sounds  of  the  divine  rivers,  and 
the  roaring,  loud-sounding  sea ;  for  the  unwearied  eye  of 
^Ether  sparkles  with  glittering  rays.  Come,  let  us  shake 
off  the  watery  cloud  from  our  immortal  forms  and  survey 
the  earth  with  far-seeing  eye. 

Soc.  O  ye  greatly  venerable  Clouds,  ye  have  clearly 
heard  me  when  1  called.  {Turning  to  STREPSIADES.]  Did 
you  hear  the  voice,  and  the  thunder  which  bellowed  at 
the  same  time,  feared  as  a  god  ? 

Strep.  I  too  worship  you,  O  ye  highly  honoured,  and 
am  inclined  to  reply  to  the  thundering,  so  much  do  I  trem- 
ble at  them  and  am  alarmed.  And  whether  it  be  lawful, 
or  be  not  lawful,  I  have  a  desire  just  now  to  ease  myself. 

Soc.  Don't  scoff,  nor  do  what  these  poor-devil-poets  do, 
but  use  words  of  good  omen,  for  a  great  swarm  of  god- 
desses is  in  motion  with  their  songs. 

Cho.  Ye  rain-bringing  virgins,  let  us  come  to  the  fruit- 
ful land  of  Pallas,  to  view  the  much-loved  country  of 
Cecrops,  abounding  in  brave  men ;  where  is  reverence 
for  sacred  rites  not  to  be  divulged  ;  where  the  house  that 
receives  the  initiated  is  thrown  open  in  holy  mystic  rites; 


THE    CLOUDS  305 

and  gifts  to  the  celestial  gods ;  and  high-roofed  temples, 
and  statues  ;  and  most  sacred  processions  in  honour  of  the 
blessed  gods ;  and  well-crowned  sacrifices  to  the  gods, 
and  feasts,  at  all  seasons ;  and  with  the  approach  of  spring 
the  Bacchic  festivity,  and  the  rousings  of  melodious 
choruses,  and  the  loud-sounding  music  of  flutes. 

Strep.  Tell  me,  O  Socrates,  I  beseech  you,  by  Jupiter, 
who  are  these  that  have  uttered  this  grand  song?  Are 
they  some  heroines? 

Soc.  By  no  means  ;  but  heavenly  Clouds,  great  divinities 
to  idle  men ;  who  supply  us  with  thought  and  argument, 
and  intelligence,  and  humbug,  and  circumlocution,  and 
ability  to  hoax,  and  comprehension. 

Strep.  On  this  account  therefore  my  soul,  having  heard 
their  voice,  flutters,  and  already  seeks  to  discourse  sub- 
tilely,  and  to  quibble  about  smoke,  and  having  pricked  a 
maxim  with  a  little  notion,  to  refute  the  opposite  argu- 
ment. So  that  now  I  eagerly  desire,  if  by  any  means  it 
be  possible,  to  see  them  palpably. 

Soc.  Look,  then,  hither,  toward  Mount  Parnes;  for 
now  I  behold  them  descending  gently. 

Strep.  Pray  where  ?     Show  me. 

Soc.  See !  there  they  come  in  great  numbers  through 
the  hollows  and  thickets ;  there,  obliquely. 

•Strep.  What's  the  matter?  for  I  can't  see  them. 

Soc.  By  the  entrance. 

Enter  CHORUS 

» 

Strep.  Now  at  length  with  difficulty  I  just  see  them. 

Soc.  Now  at  length  you  assuredly  see  them,  unless  you 
have  your  eyes  running  pumpkins. 

Strep.  Yes,  by  Jupiter !  O  highly  honoured  Clouds, 
for  now  they  cover  all  things. 

Soc.  Did  you  not,  however,  know,  nor  yet  consider, 
these  to  be  goddesses? 

Strep.  No,  by  Jupiter !  but  I  thought  them  to  be  mist, 
and  dew,  and  smoke. 


306  ARISTOI'IIANKS 

Soc.  For  you  do  not  know,  by  Jupiter !  that  these  feed 
very  many  sophists,  Thurian  soothsayers,  practisers  of 
medicine,  lazy-long-haired-onyx-ring-wearers,  song-twist- 
ers for  the  cyclic  dances,  and  meteorological  quacks. 
They  feed  idle  people  who  do  nothing,  because  such  men 
celebrate  them  in  verse. 

Strep.  For  this  reason,  then,  they  introduced  into  their 
verses  "  the  dreadful  impetuosity  of  the  moist,  whirling- 
bright  clouds";  and  "the  curls  of  hundred-headed  Typho"; 
and  "  the  hard-blowing  tempests  "  ;  and  then,  "  aerial, 
moist  "  ;  "  crooked-clawed  birds,  floating  in  air  "  ;  and 
"  the  showers  of  rain  from  dewy  Clouds."  And  then,  in 
return  for  these,  they  swallow  "  slices  of  great,  fine  mul- 
lets, and  bird's-flesh  of  thrushes." 

Soc.  Is  it  not  just,  however,  that  they  should  have 
their  reward,  on  account  of  these? 

Strep.  Tell  me,  pray,  if  they  are  really  Clouds,  what 
ails  them,  that  they  resemble  mortal  women?  For  they 
are  not  such. 

Soc.  Pray,  of  what  nature  are  they  ? 

Strep.  I  do  not  clearly  know  :  at  any  rate  they  resem- 
ble spread-out  fleeces,  and  not  women,  by  Jupiter!  not  a 
bit ;  for  these  have  noses. 

Soc.  Answer,  then,  whatever  I  ask  you. 

Strep.  Then  say  quickly  what  you  wish. 

Soc.  Have  you  ever,  when  you  looked  up,  seen  a  cloud 
like  to  a  centaur,  or  a  panther,  or  a  wolf,  or  a  bull  ? 

Strep.  By  Jupiter,  have  I !     But  what  of  that? 

Soc.  They  become  all  things,  whatever  they  please. 
And  then  if  they  see  a  person  with  long  hair,  a  wild  one 
of  these  hairy  fellows,  like  the  son  of  Xenophantes,  in  de- 
rision of  his  folly,  they  liken  themselves  to  centaurs. 

Strep.  Why,  what,  if  they  should  see  Simon,  a  plunderer 
of  the  public  property,  what  do  they  do? 

Soc.  They  suddenly  become  wolves,  showing  up  his 
disposition. 

Strep.  For  this  reason,  then,  for  this  reason,  when  they 


THE    CLOUDS  307 

yesterday  saw  Cleonymus  the  recreant,  on  this  account 
they  became  stags,  because  they  saw  this  most  cowardly 
fellow. 

Soc.  And  now  too,  because  they  saw  Clisthenes,  you 
observe,  on  this  account  they  became  women. 

Strep.  Hail  therefore,  O  mistresses !  And  now,  if  ever 
ye  did  to  any  other,  to  me  also  utter  a  voice  reaching  to 
heaven,  O  all-powerful  queens. 

Cho.  Hail,  O  ancient  veteran,  hunter  after  learned 
speeches!  And  thou,  O  priest  of  most  subtle  trifles!  tell 
us  what  you  require  ?  For  we  would  not  hearken  to  any 
other  of  the  present  meteorological  sophists,  except  to 
Prodicus ;  to  him,  on  account  of  his  wisdom  and  intelli- 
gence ;  and  to  you,  because  you  walk  proudly  in  the 
streets,  and  cast  your  eyes  askance,  and  endure  many 
hardships  with  bare  feet,  and  in  reliance  upon  us  lookest 
supercilious. 

Strep.  O  Earth,  what  a  voice  !  how  holy,  and  dignified, 
and  wondrous! 

So&.  For,  in  fact,  these  alone  are  goddesses ;  and  all  the 
rest  is  nonsense. 

Strep.  But  come,  by  the  Earth,  is  not  Jupiter,  .the 
Olympian,  a  god  ? 

Soc.  What  Jupiter?    Do  not  trifle.    There  is  no  Jupiter. 

Strep.  What  do  you  say  ?  Who  rains,  then?  For 'first 
of  all  explain  this  to  me. 

Soc.  These,  to  be  sure.  I  will  teach  you  it  by  powerful 
evidence.  Come,  where  have  you  ever  seen  him  raining 
at  any  time  without  Clouds?  And  yet  he  ought  to  rain  in 
fine  weather,  and  these  to  be  absent. 

Strep.  By  Apollo,  of  a  truth  you  have  rightly  con- 
firmed this  by  your  present  argument.  And  yet,  before 
this,  I  really  thought  that  Jupiter  caused  the  rain.  But 
tell  me  who  it  is  that  thunders.  This  makes  me  tremble. 

Soc.  These,  as  they  roll,  thunder. 

Strep.  In  what  way  ?  you  all-daring  man  ! 

Soc,  When  they  are  full  of  much  water,  and  are 


308  ARISTOIMIANKS 

pelled  to  be  borne  along,  being  necessarily  precipitated 
when  full  of  rain,  then  they  fall  heavily  upon  each  other 
and  burst  and  clap. 

Strep.  Who  is  it  that  compels  them  to  be  borne  along? 
is  it  not  Jupiter? 

Soc.  By  no  means,  but  ^ethereal  Vortex. 

Strep.  Vortex?  It  had  escaped  my  notice  that  Jupiter 
did  not  exist,  and  that  Vortex  now  reigned  in  his  stead. 
But  you  have  taught  me  nothing  as  yet  concerning  the 
clap  and  the  thunder. 

Soc.  Have  you  not  heard  me,  that  I  said  that  the  Clouds, 
when  full  of  moisture,  dash  against  each  other,  and  clap  by 
reason  of  their  density  ? 

Strep.  Come,  how  am  I  to  believe  this? 

Soc.  I'll  teach  you  from  your  own  case.  Were  you 
ever,  after  being  stuffed  with  broth  at  the  Panathenaic 
festival,  then  disturbed  in  your  belly,  and  did  a  tumult 
suddenly  rumble  through  it? 

Strep.  Yes,  by  Apollo !  and  immediately  the  little 
broth  plays  the  mischief  wiHi  me,  and  is  disturbed, 
and  rumbles  like  thunder,  and  grumbles  dreadfully  :  at 
first  gently  pappax,  pappax ;  and  then  it  adds  pnpa- 
pappax  ;  and  finally,  it  thunders  downright  papapap] 
as  they  do. 

Soc.  Consider,  therefore,  how  you  have  trumpeted  from 
a  little  belly  so  small :  and  how  is  it  not  probable  that  this 
air,  being  boundless,  should  thunder  loudly  ? 

Strep.  For  this  reason,  therefore,  the  two  names  also, 
Trump  and  Thunder,  are  similar  to  each  other.  .  But  teach 
me  this,  whence  comes  the  thunderbolt  blazing  with  fire, 
and  burns  us  to  ashes  when  it  smites  us,  and  singes  those 
who  survive.  For  indeed  Jupiter  evidently  hurls  this  at 
the  perjured. 

Soc.  Why,  how  then,  you  foolish  person,  and  savouring 
of  the  chirk  ages  and  antediluvian,  if  his  manner  is  to  smite 
the  perjured,  does  he  not  blast  Simon,  and  Cleonymus 
and  Theorus?  And  vet  thev  arc  verv  perjured.  But  he 


THE   CLOUDS 


309 


smites  his  own  temple,  and  Sunium  the  promontory  of 
Athens,  and  the  tall  oaks.  Wherefore  ?  for  indeed  an  oak 
does  not  commit  perjury. 

Strep.  I  do  not  know ;  but  you  seem  to  speak  well. 
For  what,  pray,  is  the  thunderbolt? 

Soc.  When  a  dry  wind,  having  been  raised  aloft,  is 
inclosed  in  these  Clouds,  it  inflates  them  within,  like  a 
bladder;  and  then,  of  necessity,  having  burst  them,  it 
rushes  out  with  vehemence  by  reason  of  its  density,  set- 
ting fire  to  itself  through  its  rushing  and  impetuosity. 

Strep.  By  Jupiter,  of  a  truth  I  once  experienced  this 
exactly  at  the  Diasian  festival !  I  was  roasting  a  haggis 
for  my  kinsfolk,  and  through  neglect  I  did  not  cut  it  open  ; 
but  it  became  inflated,  and  then  suddenly  bursting,  befouled 
my  eyes,  and  burned  my  face. 

CJw.  O  mortal,  who  hast  desired  great  wisdom  from 
us !  How  happy  will  you  become  among  the  Athenians 
and  among  the  Greeks,  if  you  be  possessed  of  a  good 
memory,  and  be  a  deep  thinker,  and  endurance  of  labour 
be  implanted  in  your  soul,  and  you  be  not  wearied  either 
by  standing  or  walking,  nor  be  exceedingly  vexed  at  shiv- 
ering with  cold,  nor  long  to  break  your  fast,  and  you 
refrain  from  wine,  and  gymnastics,  and  the  other  follies, 
and  consider  this  the  highest  excellence,  as  is  proper  a 
clever  man  should,  to  conquer  by  action  and  counsel,  and 
by  battling  with  your  tongue. 

Strep.  As  far  as  regards  a  sturdy  spirit,  and  care  that 
makes  one's  bed  uneasy,  and  a  frugal  and  hard-living  and 
savory-eating  belly,  be  of  good  courage  and  don't  trouble 
yourself ;  I  would  offer  myself  to  hammer  on,  for  that 
matter. 

Soc.  Will  you  not,  pray,  now  believe  in  no  god,  except 
what  we  believe  in — this  Chaos,  and  the  Clouds,  and  the 
Tongue — these  three  ? 

Strep.  Absolutely  I  would  not  even  converse  with  the 
others,  not  even  if  I  met  them ;  nor  would  I  sacrifice  to 
them,  nor  make  libations,  nor  offer  frankincense. 


3io  ARISTOPHANES 

Clio.  Tell  us  then  boldly,  what  \ve  must  do  for  you? 
for  you  shall  not  fail  in  getting  it,  if  you  honour  and 
admire  us,  and  seek  to  become  clever. 

. Strep.  ()  mistresses,  1  request  of  you  then  this  very 
small  favour,  that  I  be  the  best  of  the  Greeks  in  speaking 
by  a  hundred  stadia. 

Cho.  Well,  you  shall  have  this  from  us,  so  that  hence- 
forward from  this  time  no  one  shall  get  more  opinions 
passed  in  the  public  assemblies  than  you. 

Strep.  Grant  me  not  to  deliver  important  opinions  ;  for 
I  do  not  desire  these,  but  only  to  pervert  the  right  for  my 
own  advantage,  and  to  evade  my  creditors. 

Cho.  Then  you  shall  obtain  what  you  desire;  for  you 
do  not  covet  great  things.  But  commit  yourself  without 
fear  to  our  ministers. 

Strep.  I  will  do  so  in  reliance  upon  you,  for  necessity 
oppresses  me,  on  account  of  the  blood-horses,  and  the 
marriage  that  ruined  me.  Now,  therefore,  let  them 
use  me  as  they  please.  I  give  up  this  my  body  to  them 
to  be  beaten,  to  be  hungered,  to  be  troubled  with  thirst, 
to  be  squalid,  to  shiver  with  cold,  to  flay  into  a  leathern 
bottle,  if  I  shall  escape  clear  from  my  debts,  and  appear 
to  men  to  be  bold,  glib  of  tongue,  audacious,  impudent, 
shameless,  a  fabricator  of  falsehoods,  inventive  of  words,  a 
practised  knave  in  lawsuits,  a  law-tablet,  a  thorough  rattle, 
a  fox,  a  sharper,  a  slippery  knave,  a  dissembler,  a  slippery 
fellow,  an  impostor,  a  gallows-bird,  a  blackguard,  a  twister, 
a  troublesome  fellow,  a  licker-up  of  hashes.  If  they  call 
me  this,  when  they  meet  me,  let  them  do  to  me  absolutely 
what  they  please.  And  if  they  like,  by  Ceres!  let  them 
serve  up  a  sausage  out  of  me  to  the  deep  thinkers. 

Clio.  This  man  has  a  spirit  not  void  of  courage,  but 
prompt.  Know,  that  if  you  learn  these  matters  from  me, 
you  will  possess  among  mortals  a  glory  as  high  as  heaven. 

Strep.    \Vliatshall  !  experience? 

Clio.  You  shall  pass  with  me  the  most  enviable  of  mor- 
tal lives  the  whole  time. 


THE    CLOUDS  31 1 

Strep.  Shall  I  then  ever  see  this  ? 

Cho.  Yea,  so  that  many  be  always  seated  at  your 
gates,  wishing  to  communicate  with  you  and  come  to  a 
conference  with  you,  to  consult  with  you  as  to  actions 
and  affidavits  of  many  talents,  as  is  worthy  of  your  abili- 
ties. [To  SOCRATES.]  But  attempt  to  teach  the  old  man 
by  degrees  whatever  you  purpose,  and  scrutinize  his  in- 
tellect, and  make  trial  of  his  mind. 

Soc.  Come  now,  tell  me  your  own  turn  of  mind  ;  in 
order  that,  when  I  know  of  what  sort  it  is,  I  may  now, 
after  this,  apply  to  you  new  engines. 

Strep.  What?  By  the  gods,  do  you  purpose  to  be- 
siege me  ? 

Soc.  No  ;  I  wish  to  briefly  learn  from  you  if  you  are 
possessed  of  a  good  memory. 

Strep.  In  two  ways,  by  Jove  !  If  anything  be  owing 
to  me,  I  have  a  very  good  memory  ;  but  if  I  owe,  un- 
happy man,  I  am  very  forgetful. 

Soc.  Is  the  power  of  speaking,  pray,  implanted  in 
your  nature  ? 

Strep.  Speaking  is  not  in  me,  but  cheating  is. 

Soc.  How,  then,  will  you  be  able  to  learn  ? 

Strep.  Excellently,  of  course. 

Soc.  Come,  then,  take  care  that,  whenever  I  propound 
any  clever  dogma  about  abstruse  matters,  you  catch  it  up 
immediately. 

Strep.  What  then  ?  Am  I  to  feed  upon  wisdom  like  a 
dog? 

Soc.  This  man  is  ignorant  and  brutish. — I  fear,  old 
man,  lest  you  will  need  blows.  Come,  let  me  see  ;  what 
do  you  do  if  any  one  beat  you  ? 

Strep.  I  take  the  beating;  and  then,  when  I  have 
waited  a  little  while,  I  call  witnesses  to  prove  it ;  then, 
again,  after  a  short  interval,  I  go  to  law. 

Soc.  Come,  then,  lay  down  your  cloak. 

Strep.  Have  I  done  any  wrong  ? 

Soc.  No ;  but  it  is  the  rule  to  enter  naked. 


312  ARISTOPHANES 

Strep.  But  I  do  not  enter  to  search  for  stolen  goods. 

Soc.  Lay  it  down.     Why  do  you  talk  nonsense? 

Strep.  Now  tell  me  this,  pray.  If  1  be  diligent  and 
learn  zealously,  to  which  of  your  disciples  shall  I  become 
like? 

Soc.  You  will  no  way  differ  from  Chasrephon  in  intellect. 

Strep.  Ah  me,  unhappy  !     I  shall  become  half-dead. 

Soc.  Don't  chatter  ;  but  quickly  follow  me  hither  with 
smartness. 

Strep.  Then  give  me  first  into  my  hands  a  honeyed 
cake  ;  for  I  am  afraid  of  descending  within,  as  if  into  the 
cave  of  Trophonius. 

Soc.  Proceed  ;  why  do  you  keep  poking  about  the 
door?  {Exeunt  SOCRATES  and  STKKI-SIADES. 

Cho.  Well,  go  in  peace,  for  the  sake  of  this  your  val- 
our. May  prosperity  attend  the  man,  because,  being  ad- 
vanced into  the  vale  of  years,  he  imbues  his  intellect  with 
modern  subjects,  and  cultivates  wisdom  !  [Turning  to  the 


Spectators,  I  will  freely  declare  to  you  the  truth,  by 
Bacchus,  who  nurtured  me  !  So  may  I  conquer,  and  be 
accounted  skilful,  as  that,  deeming  you  to  be  clever  spec- 
tators, and  this  to  be  the  cleverest  of  my  comedies,  I 
thought  proper  to  let  you  first  taste  that  comedy,  which 
gave  me  the  greatest  labour.  And  then  I  retired  from 
the  contest  defeated  by  vulgar  fellows,  though  I  did  not 
deserve  it.  These  things,  therefore,  I  object  to  you,  a 
learned  audience,  for  whose  sake  I  was  expending  this 
labour.  But  not  even  thus  will  I  ever  willingly  desert 
the  discerning  portion  of  you.  For  since  what  time  my 
Mildest  Man  and  my  Rake  were  very  highly  praised  here 
by  an  audience,  with  whom  it  is  a  pleasure  even  to  hold 
converse,  and  I  (for  I  was  still  a  virgin,  and  it  was  not 
lawful  for  me  as  yet  to  have  children)  exposed  my  off- 
spring, and  another  girl  took  it  up  and  owned  it,  and  you 
generously  reared  and  edurafed  it,  from  this  time  1  have- 
had  sine  pli-dgrs  of  your  good  will  toward  me.  Now, 


THE   CLOUDS  313 

therefore,  like  that  well-known  Electra,  has  this  comedy 
come  seeking,  if  haply  it  meet  with  an  audience  so  clever, 
for  it  will  recognise,  if  it  should  see,  the  lock  of  its 
brother.  But  see  how  modest  she  is  by  nature,  who,  in 
the  first  place,  has  come,  having  stitched  to  her  no  leath- 
ern phallus  hanging  down,  red  at  the  top,  and  thick,  to 
set  the  boys  a  laughing  ;  nor  yet  jeered  the  bald-headed, 
nor  danced  the  cordax  ;  nor  does  the  old  man  who  speaks 
the  verses  beat  the  person  near  him  with  his  staff,  keep- 
ing out  of  sight  wretched  ribaldry;  nor  has  she  rushed  in 
with  torches,  nor  does  she  shout  iou,  lov ;  but  has  come  re- 
lying on  herself  and  her  verses.  And  I,  although  so  ex- 
cellent a  poet,  do  not  give  myself  airs,  nor  do  I  seek  to 
deceive  you  by  twice  and  thrice  bringing  forward  the 
same  pieces  ;  but  I  am  always  clever  at  introducing  new 
fashions,  not  at  all  resembling  each  other,  and  all  of  them 
clever  ;  who  struck  Cleon  in  the  belly  when  at  the  height 
of  his  power,  and  could  not  bear  to  attack  him  afterward 
when  he  was  down.  But  these  scribblers,  when  once 
Hyperbolus  has  given  them  a  handle,  keep  ever  tram- 
pling on  this  wretched  man  and  his  mother.  Eupolis,  in- 
deed, first  of  all  craftily  introduced  his  Maricas,  having 
basely,  base  fellow,  spoiled  by  altering  my  play  of  the 
Knights,  having  added  to  it,  for  the  sake  of  the  cordax,  a 
drunken  old  woman,  whom  Phrynichus  long  ago  poetized, 
whom  the  whale  was  for  devouring.  Then  again  Her- 
mippus  made  verses  on  Hyperbolus ;  and  now  all  others 
press  hard  upon  Hyperbolus,  imitating  my  simile  of  the 
eels.  Whoever,  therefore,  laughs  at  these,  let  him  not 
take  pleasure  in  my  attempts ;  but  if  you  are  delighted 
with  me  and  my  inventions,  in  times  to  come  you  will 
seem  to  be  wise. 

I  first  invoke,  to  join  our  choral  band,  the  mighty 
Jupiter,  ruling  on  high,  the  monarch  of  gods ;  and  the 
potent  master  of  the  trident,  the  fierce  upheaver  of  earth 
and  briny  sea ;  and  our  father  of  great  renown,  most  au- 
gust JEther,  life-supporter  of  all :  and  the  horse-guider, 


314  ARISTOPHANES 

who  fills  the  plain  of  the  earth  with  exceeding  bright 
beams,  a  mighty  deity  among  gods  and  mortals. 

Most  clever  spectators,  come,  give  us  your  attention  ; 
for  having  been  injured,  we  blame  you  to  your  faces.  For 
though  we  benefit  the  state  most  of  all  the  gods,  to  us 
alone  of  deities  you  do  not  offer  sacrifice  nor  yet  pour 
libations,  who  watch  over  you.  For  if  there  should  be 
any  expedition  without  prudence,  then  we  either  thunder 
or  drizzle  small  rain.  And  then,  when  you  were  for 
choosing  as  your  general  the  Paphlagonian  tanner,  hate- 
ful to  the  gods,  we  contracted  our  brows  and  were  en- 
raged ;  and  thunder  burst  through  the  lightning ;  and  the 
Moon  forsook  her  usual  paths;  and  the  Sun  immediately 
drew  in  his  wick  to  himself,  and  declared  he  would  not 
give  you  light,  if  Cleon  should  be  your  general.  Never- 
theless you  chose  him.  For  they  say  that  ill  counsel  is 
in  this  city  ;  that  the  gods,  however,  turn  all  these  your 
mismanagements  to  a  prosperous  issue.  And  how  this 
also  shall  be  advantageous,  we  will  easily  teach  you. 
If  you  should  convict  the  cormorant  Cleon  of  bribery  and 
embezzlement,  and  then  make  fast  his  neck  in  the  stocks, 
the  affair  will  turn  out  for  the  state  to  the  ancient  form 
again,  if  you  have  mismanaged  in  any  way,  and  to  a  pros- 
perous  issue. 

Hear  me  again,  King  Phoebus,  Delian  Apollo,  who  in- 
habitest  the  high-peaked  Cynthian  rock  !  and  thou,  blessed 
goddess,  who  inhabitest  the  all-golden  house  of  Ephesus, 
in  which  Lydian  damsels  greatly  reverence  thee;  and 
thou,  our  national  goddess,  swayer  of  the  asgis,  Minerva, 
guardian  of  the  city!  and  thou,  reveller  Bacchus,  who, 
inhabiting  the  Parnassian  rock,  sparkiest  with  torches, 
conspicuous  among  the  Delphic  Bacchanals ! 

When  we  had  got  ready  to  set  out  hither,  the  Moon 
met  us,  and  commanded  us  first  to  greet  the  Athenians 
and  their  allies  ;  and  then  declared  that  she  was  angry, 
for  that  she  had*  suffered  dreadful  things,  though  she 
benefits  you  all,  not  in  words,  but  openly.  In  the  first 


THE   CLOUDS  .    315 

place,  not  less  than  a  drachma  every  month  for  torches; 
so  that  also  all,  when  they  went  out  of  an  evening,  were 
wont  to  say,  "  Boy,  don't  buy  a  torch,  for  the  moonlight 
is  beautiful."  And  she  says  she  confers  other  benefits  on 
you,  but  that  you  do  not  observe  the  days  at  all  correctly, 
but  confuse/them  up  and  down ;  so  that  she  says  the  gods 
are  constantly  threatening  her,  when  they  are  defrauded 
of  their  dinner,  and  depart  home,  not  having  met  with  the 
regular  feast  according  to  the  number  of  the  days.  And 
then,  when  you  ought  to  be  sacrificing,  you  are  inflicting 
tortures  and  litigating.  And  often,  while  we  gods  are 
observing  a  fast,  when  we  mourn  for  Memnon  or  Sarpe- 
don,  you  are  pouring  libations  and  laughing.  For  which 
reason  Hyperbolus,  having  obtained  by  lot  this  year  to 
be  Hieromnemon,  was  afterward  deprived  by  us  gods  of 
his  crown  :  for  thus  he  will  know  better  that  he  ought  to 
spend  the  days  of  his  life  according  to  the  Moon. 

Enter  Soc RATES 

Soc.  By  Respiration,  and  Chaos,  and  Air,  I  have  not 
seen  any  man  so  boorish,  nor  so  impracticable,  nor  so 
stupid,  nor  so  forgetful ;  who,  while  learning  some  little 
petty  quibbles,  forgets  them  before  he  has  learned  them. 
Nevertheless  I  will  certainly  call  him  out  here  to  the  light. 
Where  is  Strepsiades?  Come  forth  with  your  couch. 

Strep,  (from  within).  The  bugs  do  not  permit  me  to 
bring  it  forth. 

Soc.  Make  haste  and  lay  it  down  ;  and  give  me  your 
attention. 

Enter  STREPSIADES 

Strep.  Very  well. 

Soc.  Come  now ;  what  do  you  now  wish  to  learn  first  of 
those  things  in  none  of  which  you  have  ever  been  instructed  ? 
Tell  me.  About  measures,  or  rhythms,  or  verses? 

Strep.  I  should  prefer  to  learn  about  measures ;  for  it 
is  but  lately  I  was  cheated  out  of  two  chcenices  by  a  meal- 
huckster. 


316  A  KISTO  I'll. \NF.S 

Soc.  I  do  not  ask  you  this,  but  which  you  account  the 
most  beautiful  measure:  the  trimetre  or  the  tetrametre? 

Strep.  I  think  nothing  superior  to  the  semisextarius. 

Soc.  You  talk  nonsense,  man. 

Strep.  Make  a  wager  then  with  me,  if  the  semisextarius 
be  not  a  tetrametre. 

Soc.  Go  to  the  devil !  how  boorish  you  are  and  dull  of 
learning.  Perhaps  you  may  be  able  to  learn  about  rhythms. 

Strep.  But  what  good  will  rhythms  do  me  for  a  living? 

Soc.  In  the  first  place,  to  be  clever  at  an  entertainment, 
understanding  what  rhythm  is  for  the  war-dance,  and 
what,  again,  according  to  the  dactyle. 

Strep.  According  to  the  dactyle  ?  By  Jove,  but  I 
know  it! 

Soc.  Tell  me,  pray. 

Strep.  What  else  but  this  finger?  Formerly,  indeed, 
when  I  was  yet  a  boy,  this  here ! 

Soc.  You  are  boorish  and  stupid. 

Strep.  For  I  do  not  desire,  you  wretch,  to  learn  any  of 
these  things. 

Soc.  What  then  ? 

Strep.  That,  that,  the  most  unjust  cause. 

Soc.  But  you  must  learn  other  things  before  these : 
namely,  what  quadrupeds  are  properly  masculine. 

Strep.  I  know  the  males,  if  I  am  not  mad — tcpios,  rpdyof, 

TaO/909,  KVO)V,  0\£KTpV(i)V. 

Soc.  Do  you  see  what  you  are  doing  ?  You  are  calling 
both  the  female  and  the  male  aXeicrpvwv  in  the  same  way. 

Strep.   How,  pray?  come,  tell  me. 

Soc.  How  ?  The  one  with  you  is  dXeicTpvow,  and  the 
other  is  dXeicrpvaiv  also. 

Strep.  Yea,  by  Neptune !  how  now  ought  I  to  call 
them  ? 

Soc.  The  one  dXefcrpvawa,  and  the  other  d\eicT(ap. 

Strep.  'A\€KTpvatva?  Capital,  by  the  Air!  So  that,  in 
return  for  this  lesson  alone,  I  will  fill  your  /capSoTro?  full  of 
barley-meal  on  all  sides. 


THE   CLOUDS  317 

Soc.  See  !  see  !  there  again  's  another  blunder  !     You 
make  /cdpSoTros,  which  is  feminine,  to  be  masculine. 
Strep.  In  what  way  do  I  make  tcdpSoTros  masculine? 
Soc.  Most    assuredly  ;    just    as    it    you    were    to    say 


Strep.  How,  pray  ?     Tell  me. 

Soc.  KdpSoTTo?  with  you  is  tantamount  to 

Strep.  Good  sir,  Cleonymus  had  no  kneading-trough, 
but  kneaded  his  bread  in  a  round  mortar.  How  ought  I 
to  call  it  henceforth  ? 

Soc.   How?     Call  it  Kap8o7rr),  as  you  call 

Strep.  Kap&oTrr),  in  the  feminine  ? 

Soc.  For  so  you  speak  it  rightly. 

Strep.  But  that  would  make  it  tcapSoTrrj, 

Soc.  You  must  learn  one  thing  more  about  names, 
what  are  masculine,  and  what  of  them  are  feminine. 

Strep.  I  know  what  are  female. 

Soc.  Tell  me,  pray. 

Strep.  Lysilla,  Philinna,  Clitagora,  Demetria. 

Soc.  What  names  are  masculine  ? 

Strep.  Thousands  :  Philoxenus,  Melesias,  Amynias. 

Soc.  But,  you  wretch  !  these  are  not  masculine. 

Strep.  Are  they  not  males  with  you  ? 

Soc.  By  no  means:  for  how  would  you  call  to  Amy- 
nias, if  you  met  him  ? 

Strep.  How  would  I  call  ?  Thus  :  "  Come  hither,  come 
hither,  Amynia  !  " 

Soc.  Do  you  see  ?  you  call  Amynias  a  woman. 

Strep.  Is  it  not  then  with  justice,  who  does  not  serve 
in  the  army?  But  why  should  I  learn  these  things,  that 
we  all  know  ? 

Soc.  It  is  no  use,  by  Jupiter  !  Having  reclined  your- 
self down  here  — 

Strep.  What  must  I  do? 

Soc.  Think  out  some  of  your  own  affairs. 

Strep.  Not  here,  pray,  I  beseech  you  ;  but,  if  I  must, 
suffer  me  to  excogitate  these  very  things  on  the  ground. 


318  ARISTOPHANES 

Soc.  There  is  no  other  way.  \Exit  SOCRATES. 

Strep.  Unfortunate  man  that  I  am !  what  a  penalty 
shall  I  this  day  pay  to  the  bugs! 

Clio.  Now  meditate  and  examine  closely ;  and  roll 
yourself  about  in  every  way,  having  wrapped  yourself 
up;  and  quickly,  when  you  fall  into  a  difficulty,  spring  to 
another  mental  contrivance.  But  let  delightful  sleep  be 
absent  from  your  eyes. 

Strep.  Attatai !  attatai ! 

Cho.  What  ails  you  ?  why  are  you  distressed  ? 

Strep.  Wretched  man,  I  am  perishing !  The  Corin- 
thians, coming  out  from  the  bed,  are  biting  me,  and  de- 
vouring my  sides,  and  drinking  up  my  life-blood,  and 
tearing  away  my  flesh,  and  digging  through  my  vitals, 
and  will  annihilate  me. 

Cho.  Do  not  now  be  very  grievously  distressed. 

Strep.  Why,  how,  when  my  money  is  gone,  my  com- 
plexion gone,  my  life  gone,  and  my  slipper  gone?  And 
furthermore  in  addition  to  these  evils,  with  singing  the 
night-watches,  I  am  almost  gone  myself. 

Re-enter  SOCRATES 

Soc.  Ho  you!  wrhat  are  you  about?  Are  you  not 
meditating? 

Strep.  I  ?     Yea,  by  Neptune  ! 

Soc.  And  what,  pray,  have  you  thought  ? 

Strep.  Whether  any  bit  of  me  will  be  left  by  the  bugs. 

Soc.  You  will  perish  most  wretchedly. 

Strep.  But,  my  good  friend,  I  have  already  perished. 

Soc.  You  must  not  give  in,  but  must  wrap  yourself 
up ;  for  you  have  to  discover  a  device  for  abstracting, 
and  a  means  of  cheating.  \\Valks  up  and  down  while 
S'l  KKI'SJADKS  wraps  himself  np  in  tJic  blankets^ 

Strep.  Ah  me!  would,  pray,  some  one  would  throw 
over  me  a  swindling  contrivance  from  the  sheep-skins. 

Soc.  Come  now  ;  I  will  first  see  this  fellow,  what  he  is 
about.  Ho  you  !  are  you  asleep? 


THE   CLOUDS 


319 


Strep.  No  ;  by  Apollo,  I  am  not ! 

Soc.  Have  you  got  anything? 

Strep.  No  ;  by  Jupiter,  certainly  not ! 

Soc.  Nothing  at  all  ? 

Strep.  Nothing,  except  what  I  have  in  my  right  hand. 

Soc.  Will  you  not  quickly  cover  yourself  up,  and  think 
of  something? 

Strep.  About  what  ?  for  do  you  tell  me  this,  O  Socrates  ! 

Soc.  Do  you,  yourself,  first  find  out  and  state  what 
you  wish. 

Strep.  You  have  heard  a  thousand  times  what  I  wish. 
About  the  interest ;  so  that  I  may  pay  no  one. 

Soc.  Come  then,  wrap  yourself  up,  and  having  given 
your  mind  play  with  subtilty,  revolve  your  affairs  by 
little  and  little,  rightly  distinguishing  and  examining. 

Strep.  Ah  me,  unhappy  man  ! 

Soc.  Keep  quiet ;  and  if  you  be  puzzled  in  any  one  of 
your  conceptions,  leave  it  and  go  ;  and  then  set  your 
mind  in  motion  again,  and  lock  it  up. 

Strep,  (in  great  glee}.  O  dearest  little  Socrates  ! 

Soc.  What,  old  man  ? 

Strep.  I  have  got  a  device  for  cheating  them  of  the 
interest. 

Soc.  Exhibit  it. 

Strep.  Now  tell  me  this,  pray  ;  if  I  were  to  purchase  a 
Thessalian  witch,  and  draw  down  the  moon  by  night,  and 
then  shut  it  up,  as  if  it  were  a  mirror,  in  a  round  crest- 
case,  and  then  carefully  keep  it — 

Soc.  What  good,  pray,  would  this  do  you  ? 

Strep.  What?  If  the  moon  were  to  rise  no  longer  any- 
where, I  should  not  pay  the  interest. 

Soc.  Why  so,  pray  ? 

Strep.  Because  the  money  is  lent  out  by  the  month. 

Soc.  Capital  !  But  I  will  again  propose  to  you  an- 
other clever  question.  If  a  suit  of  five  talents  should  be 
entered  against  you,  tell  me  how  you  would  obliterate  it. 

Strep.  How?  how?  I  do  not  know;  but  I  must  seek. 


320  A.R1STOPHA1 

Soc.  Do  not  then  always  revolve  your  thoughts  about 
yourself;  but  slack  away  your  mind  into  tire  air,  like  a 
cock-chafer  tied  with  a  thread  by  the  foot. 

Strep.  I  have  found  a  very  clever  method  of  getting 
rid  of  my  suit,  so  that  you  yourself  would  acknowl- 
edge it. 

Soc.  Of  what  description  ? 

Strep.  Have  you  ever  seen  this  stone  in  the  chemists' 
shops,  the  beautiful  and  transparent  one,  from  which  they 
kindle  fire? 

Soc.  Do  you  mean  the  burning-glass? 

Strep.  I  do.  Come,  what  would  you  say,  pray,  if  I 
were  to  take  this,  when  the  clerk  was  entering  the  suit, 
and  were  to  stand  at  a  distance,  in  the  direction  of  the 
sun,  thus,  and  melt  out  the  letters  of  my  suit? 

Soc.  Cleverly  done,  by  the  Graces  ! 

Strep.  Oh !  how  I  am  delighted,  that  a  suit  of  five 
talents  has  been  cancelled  ! 

Soc.  Come  now,  quickly  seize  upon  this. 

Strep.   What? 

Soc.  How,  when  engaged  in  a  lawsuit,  you  could  over- 
turn the  suit,  when  you  were  about  to  be  cast,  because 
you  had  no  witnesses. 

Strep.   Most  readily  and  easily. 

Soc.  Tell  me,  pray. 

Strep.  Well  now,  I'll  tell  you.  If,  while  one  suit  was 
still  pending,  before  mine  was  called  on,  I  were  to  run 
away  and  hang  myself. 

Soc.  You  talk  nonsense. 

Strep.  By  the  gods  would  I  !  for  no  one  will  bring  an 
action  against  me  when  I  am  dead. 

Soc.  You  talk  nonsense.  Begone  ;  I  can't  teach  you 
any  longer. 

Strep.  Why  so?     Yea,  by  the  gods,  O  Socrates! 

Soc.  You  straightway  forget  whatever  you  learn.  For, 
what  now  was  the  first  thing  you  wrre  taught  ?  Tell  me. 

Strep.  Come,   let   me   see:    nay,    what    was    the    first? 


THE    CLOUDS  321 

What  was  the  first?  Nay,  what  was  the  thing  in  which 
we  knead  our  flour?  Ah  me  !  what  was  it? 

Soc.  Will  you  not  pack  off  to  the  devil,  you  most  for- 
getful and  most  stupid  old  man  ? 

Strep.  Ah  me,  what  then,  pray,  will  become  of  me, 
wretched  man?  For  I  shall  be  utterly  undone,  if  I  no  not 
learn  to  ply  the  tongue.  Come,  O  ye  Clouds,  give  me 
some  good  advice. 

C/io.  We,  old  man,  advise  you,  if  you  have  a  son  grown 
up,  to  send  him  to  learn  in  your  stead. 

Strep.  Well,  I  have  a  fine,  handsome  son,  but  he  is  not 
willing  to  learn.  What  must  I  do? 

Cho.  But  do  you  permit  him? 

Strep.  Yes,  for  he  is  robust  in  body,  and  in  good  health, 
and  is  come  of  the  high-plumed  dames  of  Ccesyra.  1  will 
go  for  him,  and  if  he  be  not  willing,  I  will  certainly  drive 
him  from  my  house.  {To  SOCRATES.]  Go  in  and  wait 
for  me  a  short  time.  {Exit. 

Cho.  Do  you  perceive  that  you  are  soon  about  to  ob- 
tain the  greatest  benefits  through  us  alone  of  the  gods? 
For  this  man  is  ready  to  do  everything  that  you  bid  him. 
But  you,  while  the  man  is  astounded  and  evidently  elated, 
having  perceived  it,  will  quickly  fleece  him  to  the  best  of 
your  power.  {Exit  SOCRATES.]  For  matters  of  this  sort 
are  somehow  accustomed  to  turn  the  other  way. 

Enter  STREPSIADES  and  PHIDIPPIDES 

Strep.  By  Mist,  you  certainly  shall  not  stay  here  any 
longer !  but  go  and  gnaw  the  columns  of  Megacles. 

Phid.  My  good  sir,  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  O 
father?  You  are  not  in  your  senses,  by  Olympian 
Jupiter ! 

Strep.  See,  see  !  "  Olympian  Jupiter  !  "  What  folly  ! 
To  think  of  your  believing  in  Jupiter,  as  old  as  you  are ! 

Phid.  Why,  pray,  did  you  laugh  at  this  ? 

Strep.  Reflecting  that  you  are  a  child,  and  have  anti- 
quated notions.  Yet,  however,  approach,  that  you  may 


322  ARISTOPHANES 

know  more ;  and  I  will  tell  you  a  thing,  by  learning  which 
you  will  be  a  man.  But  see  that  you  do  not  teach  this  to 
any  one. 

Phid.  Well,  what  is  it? 

Strep.   You  swore  now  by  Jupiter. 

Phid.  I  did. 

Strep.  Seest  thou,  then,  how  good  a  thing  is  learning? 
There  is  no  Jupiter,  O  Phidippides  ! 

Phid.  Who  then? 

Strep.  Vortex  reigns,  having  expelled  Jupiter. 

Phid.  Bah  !     Why  do  you  talk  foolishly? 

Strep.  Be  assured  that  it  is  so. 

Phid.  Who  says  this? 

Strep.  Socrates  the  Melian,  and  Chasrephon,  who  knows 
the  footmarks  of  fleas. 

Phid.  Have  you  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  of  frenzy, 
that  you  believe  madmen? 

Strep.  Speak  words  of  good  omen,  and  say  nothing 
bad  of  clever  men  and  wise ;  of  whom,  through  fru- 
gality, none  ever  shaved  or  anointed  himself,  or  went  to 
a  bath  to  wash  himself;  while  you  squander  my  property 
in  bathing,  as  if  I  were  already  dead.  But  go  as  quickly 
as  possible  and  learn  instead  of  me. 

Pliid.   What  good  could  any  one  learn  from  them? 

Strep.  What,  really?  Whatever  wisdom  there  is 
among  men.  And  you  will  know  yourself,  how  ignorant 
•and  stupid  you  are.  But  wait  for  me  here  a  short  time. 

|  Runs  off'. 

Phid.  Ah  me  !  what  shall  I  do,  my  father  being  craxed  ? 
Shall  I  bring  him  into  court  and  convict  him  of  lunacy, 
or  shall  I  give  information  of  his  madness  to  the  coffin- 
makers  ? 

Re-enter  STRKrsiADF.s  with  n  cock  under  one  arm  and  a 
hen  under  the  other 

Strep.  Come,  let  me  see  ;  what  do  you  consider  this  to 

tell   me. 


THE   CLOUDS  323 

Phid.  Alectryon. 

Strep.  Right.     And  what  this? 

Phid.  Alectryon. 

Strep.  Both  the  same?  You  are  very  ridiculous.  Do 
not  do  so,  then,  for  the  future;  but  call  this  u\eKTpvat,va, 
and  this  one  dXe/crajp. 

Phid.  ' AXefcrpvcuva  I  Did  you  learn  these  clever  things 
by  going  in  just  now  to  the  Titans? 

Strep.  And  many  others  too  ;  but  whatever  I  learned 
on  each  occasion  I  used  to  forget  immediately,  through 
length  of  years. 

Phid.  Is  it  for  this  reason,  pray,  you  have  also  lost  your 
cloak  ? 

Strep.  I  have  not  lost  it ;  but  have  studied  it  away. 

Phid.  What  have  you  made  of  your  slippers,  you  fool- 
ish man  ? 

Strep.  I  have  expended  them,  like  Pericles,  for  needful 
purposes.  Come,  move,  let  us  go.  And  then  if  you  obey 
your  father,  go  wrong  if  you  like.  I  also  know  that  I  for- 
merly obeyed  you,  a  lisping  child  of  six  years  old,  and 
bought  you  a  go-cart  at  the  Diasia,  with  the  first  obolus 
I  received  from  the  Helisea. 

Phid.  You  will  assuredly  some  time  at  length  be  grieved 
at  this. 

Strep.  It  is  well  done  of  you  that  you  obeyed.  Come 
hither,  come  hither,  O  Socrates!  come  forth,  for  I  bring 
to  you  this  son  of  mine,  having  persuaded  him  against 
his  will. 

Enter  SOCRATES 

Soc.  For  he  is  still  childish,  and  not  used  to  the  baskets 
here. 

Phid.  You  would  yourself  be  used  to  them  if  you  were 
hanged. 

Strep.  A  mischief  take  you !  do  you  abuse  your  teacher? 

Soc.  "  Were  hanged "  quoth  'a !  how  sillily  he  pro- 
nounced it,  and  with  lips  wide  apart !  How  can  this 
youth  ever  learn  an  acquittal  from  a  trial  or  a  legal  sum- 


324 


ARISTOPHANES 


mons,  or  persuasive  refutation?  And  yet  Hyperbolus 
learned  this  at  the  cost  of  a  talent. 

Strep.  Never  mind  ;  teach  him.  He  is  clever  by  nature. 
Indeed,  from  his  earliest  years,  when  he  was  a  little  fellow 
only  so  big,  he  was  wont  to  form  houses  and  carve  ships 
within-doors,  and  make  little  wagons  of  leather,  and 
make  frogs  out  of  pomegranate-rinds,  you  can't  think 
how  cleverly.  But  see  that  he  learns  those  two  causes ; 
the  better,  whatever  it  may  be ;  and  the  worse,  which, 
by  maintaining  what  is  unjust,  overturns  the  better.  If 
not  both,  at  any  rate  the  unjust  one  by  all  means. 

Soc.  He  shall  learn  it  himself  from  the  two  causes  in 
person.  [Exit  SOCRATES. 

Strep.  I  will  take  my  departure.  Remember  this  now, 
that  he  is  to  be  able  to  reply  to  all  just  arguments.  [ILvit 
STREPSIADES,  and  enter  JUST  CAUSE  and  UNJUST  CAUSK. 

Just  Cause.  Come  hither!  show  yourself  to  the  specta- 
tors, although  being  audacious. 

Unjust  Cause.  Go  whither  you  please ;  for  I  shall  far 
rather  do  for  you,  if  I  speak  before  a  crowd. 

Just.  You  destroy  me  ?     Who  are  you  ? 

Unj.  A  cause. 

Just.  Ay,  the  worse. 

Unj.  But  I  conquer  you,  who  say  that  you  are  better 
than  I. 

Just.  By  doing  what  clever  trick  ? 

Unj.  By  discovering  new  contrivances. 

Just.  For  these  innovations  flourish  by  the  favour  of 
these  silly  persons. 

Unj.  No  ;  but  wise  persons. 

Just.  I  will  destroy  you  miserably. 

Unj.  Tell  me,  by  doing  what? 

Just.  By  speaking  what  is  just. 

Unj.  But  I  will  overturn  them  by  contradicting  them  ; 
for  I  deny  that  justice  even  exists  at.  all. 

Just.   Do  you  deny  that  it  exists? 

Unj.  For  come,  where  is  it  ? 


THE    CLOUDS  325 

Just.  With  the  gods. 

Unj.    How,   then,   if    justice    exists,    has    Jupiter    not 
perished,  who  bound  his  own  father  ? 

Just,  Bah  !  this  profanity  now  is  spreading  !  Give  me 
a  basin. 

Unj.  You  are  a  dotard  and  absurd. 
Just.  You  are  debauched  and  shameless. 
Unj.  You  have  spoken  roses  of  me. 
Just.  And  a  dirty  lickspittle. 
Unj.  You  crown  me  with  lilies. 
Just.  And  a  parricide. 

Unj.  You  don't  know  that  you  are  sprinkling  me  with 
gold. 

Just.  Certainly  not  so  formerly,  but  with  lead. 
Unj.  But  now  this  is  an  ornament  to  me. 
Just.  You  are  very  impudent. 
Unj.  And  you  are  antiquated. 

Just.  And  through  you,  no  one  of  our  youths  is  willing 
to  go  to  school ;  and  you  will  be  found  out  some  time  or 
other  by  the  Athenians,  what  sort  of  doctrines  you  teach 
the  simple-minded. 

Unj.  You  are  shamefully  squalid. 

Just.  And  you  are  prosperous.  And  yet  formerly  you 
were  a  beggar,  saying  that  you  were  the  Mysian  Tele- 
phus,  and  gnawing  the  maxims  of  Pandeletus  out  of  your 
little  wallet. 

Unj.  Oh,  the  wisdom— 
Just.  Oh,  the  madness — 
Unj.   Which  you  have  mentioned. 

Just.  And  of  your  city,  which  supports  you  who  ruin 
her  youths. 

Unj.  You  sha'n't  teach  this  youth,  you  old  dotard. 
Just.  Yes,  if  he  is  to  be  saved,  and  not  merely  to  prac- 
tise loquacity. 

Unj.  (to  PHIDIPPIDES).  Come  hither,  and  leave  him  to 
rave. 

Just.  You  shall  howl,  if  you  lay  your  hand  on  him. 


326  ARISTOI'HANF.S 

CJio.  Cease  from  contention  and  railing.  But  show  to 
us,  you,  what  you  used  to  teach  the  men  of  former  times, 
and  you,  the  new  system  of  education ;  in  order  that, 
having  heard  you  disputing,  he  may  decide  and  go  to  the 
school  of  one  or  the  other. 

Just.   I  am  willing  to  do  so. 

Unj.  I  also  am  willing. 

Cho.  Come  now,  which  of  the  two  shall  speak  first? 

Unj.  I  will  give  him  the  precedence ;  and  then,  from 
these  things  which  he  adduces,  I  will  shoot  him  dead  with 
new  words  and  thoughts.  And  at  last,  if  he  mutter,  he 
shall  be  destroyed,  being  stung  in  his  whole  face  and  his 
two  eyes  by  my  maxims,  as  if  by  bees. 

Clio.  Now  the  two,  relying  on  very  dexterous  argu- 
ments and  thoughts,  and  sententious  maxims,  will  show 
which  of  them  shall  appear  superior  in  argument.  For 
now  the  whole  crisis  of  wisdom  is  here  laid  before  them  ; 
about  which  my  friends  have  a  very  great  contest.  But 
do  you,  who  adorned  our  elders  with  many  virtuous 
manners,  utter  the  voice  in  which  you  rejoice,  and  declare 
your  nature. 

Just.  I  will,  therefore,  describe  the  ancient  system  of 
education,  how  it  was  ordered,  when  I  flourished  in  the 
advocacy  of  justice,  and  temperance  was  the  fashion.  In 
the  first  place  it  was  incumbent  that  no  one  should  hear 
the  voice  of  a  boy  uttering  a  syllable  ;  and  next,  that 
those  from  the  same  quarter  of  the  town  should  march 
in  good  order  through  the  streets  to  the  school  of  the 
harp-master,  naked,  and  in  a  body,  even  if  it  were  to 
snow  as  thick  as  meal.  Then  again,  their  master  would 
teach  them,  not  sitting  cross-legged,  to  learn  by  rote  a 
song,  either  "  TIa\\a8a  TrepceTrokw  Beivav,"  or  "  rr]\e7ropov  rt 
ftoafui,"  raising  to  a  higher  pitch  the  harmony  which  our 
fathers  transmitted  to  us.  But  if  any  of  them  were  to 
play  the  buffoon,  or  turn  any  quavers,  like  these  difficult 
turns  the  present  artists  make  after  the  manner  of  Phry- 
uis  he  used  t  )  l;c  thrashed,  being  beaten  with  many 


THE    CLOUDS  327 

blows,  as  banishing-  the  Muses.  And  it  behooved  the 
boys,  while  sitting  in  the  school  of  the  Gymnastic-master, 
to  cover  the  thigh,  so  that  they  might  exhibit  nothing  in- 
decent to  those  outside ;  then,  again,  after  rising  from  the 
ground,  to  sweep  the  sand  together,  and  to  take  care  not 
to  leave  an  impression  of  the  person  for  their  lovers. 
And  no  boy  used  in  those  days  to  anoint  himself  below 
the  navel ;  so  that  their  bodies  wore  the  appearance  of 
blooming  health.  Nor  used  he  to  go  to  his  lover,  having 
made  up  his  voice  in  an  effeminate  tone,  prostituting  him- 
self with  his  eyes.  Nor  used  it  to  be  allowed  when  one 
was  dining  to  take  the  head  of  a  radish,  or  to  snatch  from 
their  seniors  dill  or  parsley,  or  to  eat  fish,  or  to  giggle,  or 
to  keep  the  legs  crossed. 

Unj.  Aye,  antiquated  and  Dipolia-like,  and  full  of 
grasshoppers,  and  of  Cecydes,  and  of  the  Buphonian 
festival ! 

Just.  Yet  certainly  these  are  those  principles  by  which 
my  system  of  education  nurtured  the  men  who  fought  at 
Marathon.  But  you  teach  the  men  of  the  present  day, 
from  their  earliest  years,  to  be  wrapped  up  in  himatia ; 
so  that  I  am  choked,  when  at  the  Panathenaia  a  fellow, 
holding  his  shield  before  his  person,  neglects  Tritogenia, 
when  they  ought  to  dance.  Wherefore,  O  youth,  choose, 
with  confidence,  me,  the  better  cause,  and  you  will  learn 
to  hate  the  Agora,  and  to  refrain  from  baths,  and  to  be 
ashamed  of  what  is  disgraceful,  and  to  be  enraged  if  any 
one  jeer  you,  and  to  rise  up  from  seats  before  your  seniors 
when  they  approach,  and  not  to  behave  ill  toward  your 
parents,  and  to  do  nothing  else  that  is  base,  because  you 
are  to  form  in  your  mind  an  image  of  Modesty  :  and  not 
to  dart  into  the  house  of  a  dancing  woman,  lest,  while 
gaping  after  these  things,  being  struck  with  an  apple  by 
a  wanton,  you  should  be  damaged  in  your  reputation : 
and  not  to  contradict  your  father  in  anything  ;  nor  by 
calling  him  lapetus,  to  reproach  him  with  the  ills  of  age, 
by  which  you  were  reared  in  your  infancy. 


328  ARISTOPHANES 

l'nj.  If  you  shall  believe  him  in  this,  O  youth,  by  Bac- 
chus, you  will  be  like  the  sons  of  Hippocrates,  and  they 
will  call  you  a  booby. 

Just.  Yet  certainly  shall  you  spend  your  time  in  the 
gymnastic  schools,  sleek  and  blooming;  not  chattering  in 
the  market-place  rude  jests,  like  the  youths  of  the  present 
day;  nor  dragged  into  court  for  a  petty  suit,  greedy, 
pettifogging,  knavish ;  but  you  shall  descend  to  the 
Academy  and  run  races  beneath  the  sacred  olives  along 
with  some  modest  compeer,  crowned  with  white  reeds, 
redolent  of  yew,  and  careless  ease,  and  of  leaf-shedding 
white  poplar,  rejoicing  in  the  season  of  spring,  when  the 
plane-tree  whispers  to  the  elm.  If  you  do  these  things 
which  I  say,  and  apply  your  mind  to  these,  you  will  ever 
have  a  stout  chest,  a  clear  complexion,  broad  shoulders,  a 
little  tongue,  large  hips,  little  lewdness.  But  if  you  prac- 
tise what  the  youths  of  the  present  day  do,  you  will  have, 
in  the  first  place,  a  pallid  complexion,  small  shoulders,  a 
narrow  chest,  a  large  tongue,  little  hips,  great  lewdness, 
a  long  psephism  ;  and  this  deceiver  will  persuade  you  to 
consider  everything  that  is  base  to  be  honourable,  and 
what  is  honourable  to  be  base  ;  and,  in  addition  to  this,  he 
will  fill  you  with  the  lewdness  of  Antimachus. 

Clio.  O  thou  that  practisest  most  renowned  high-tower- 
ing wisdom  !  how  sweetly  does  a  modest  grace  attend 
your  words!  Happy,  therefore,  were  they  who  lived  in 
those  days,  in  the  times  of  former  men  !  In  reply,  then, 
to  these,  O  thou  that  hast  a  dainty-seeming  Muse,  it  be- 
hooveth  thee  to  say  something  new;  since  the  man  has 
gained  renown.  And  it  appears  you  have  need  of  power- 
ful arguments  against  him,  if  you  are  to  conquer  the  man, 
and  not  incur  laughter. 

\::<!  v  t  I  was  choking  in  my  heart,  and  was 
longing  to  confound  all  these  with  contrary  maxims.  For 
I  have  been  called  among  the  deep  thinkers  the  "worse 
cause,"  on  this  very  account,  that  I  first  contrived  how  to 
speak  against  both  law  and  justice  :  and  this  art  is  worth 


THE    CLOUDS  329 

more  than  ten  thousand  staters,  that  one  should  choose 
the  worse  cause,  and  nevertheless  be  victorious.  But 
mark  how  I  will  confute  the  system  of  education  on  which 
he  relies,  who  says,  in  the  first  place,  that  he  will  not  per- 
mit you  to  be  washed  with  warm  water.  And  yet,  on 
what  principle  do  you  blame  the  warm  baths  ? 

Just.  Because  it  is  most  vile,  and  makes  a  man  cow- 
ardly. 

Unj.  Stop  !  For  immediately  1  seize  and  hold  you  by 
the  waist  without  escape.  Come,  tell  me,  which  of  the 
sons  of  Jupiter  do  you  deem  to  have  been  the  bravest  in 
soul,  and  to  have  undergone  most  labours  ? 

Just.  I  consider  no  man  superior  to  Hercules. 

Unj,  Where,  pray,  did  you  ever  see  cold  Heraclean 
baths  ?  And  yet,  who  was  more  valiant  than  he  ? 

Just.  These  are  the  very  things  which  make  the  bath 
full  of  youths  always  chattering  all  day  long,  but  the 
palaestras  empty. 

Unj.  You  next  find  fault  with  their  living  in  the  mar- 
ket-place ;  but  I  commend  it.  For  if  it  had  been  bad, 
Homer  would  never  have  been  for  representing  Nestor 
as  an  orator  ;  nor  all  the  other  wise  men.  I  will  return, 
then,  from  thence  to  the  tongue,  which  this  fellow  says 
our  youths  ought  not  to  exercise,  while  I  maintain  they 
should.  And,  again,  he  says  they  ought  to  be  modest : 
two  very  great  evils.  For  tell  me  to  whom  you  have  ever 
seen  any  good  accrue  through  modesty ;  and  confute  me 
by  your  words. 

Just.  To  many.  Peleus,  at  any  rate,  received  his 
sword  on  account  of  it. 

Unj.  A  sword  ?  Marry,  he  got  a  pretty  piece  of  luck, 
the  poor  wretch  !  while  Hyperbolus,  he  of  the  lamps,  got 
more  than  many  talents  by  his  villainy,  but,  by  Jupiter,  no 
sword  ! 

Just.  And  Peleus  married  Thetis,  too,  through  his 
modesty. 

Unj.  And  then  she  went  off,  and  left  him  ;  for  he  was 


330 


ARISTOPHANES 


not  lustful,  not  an  agreeable  bedfellow  to  spend  the  night 
with.  Now  a  woman  delights  in  being  wantonly  treated. 
But  you  are  an  old  dotard.  For  (to  PHIDIPPIDES)  consider, 
O  youth,  all  that  attaches  to  modesty,  and  of  how  many 
pleasures  you  are  about  to  be  deprived— of  women,  of 
games  at  cottabus,  of  dainties,  of  drinking-bouts,  of  gig- 
gling. And  yet,  what  is  life  worth  to  you  if  you  be  de- 
prived of  these  enjoyments?  Well,  I  will  pass  from  thence 
to  the  necessities  of  our  nature.  You  have  gone  astray, 
you  have  fallen  in  love,  you  have  been  guilty  of  some 
adultery,  and  then  have  been  caught.  You  are  undone, 
for  you  are  unable  to  speak.  But  if  you  associate  with 
me,  indulge  your  inclination,  dance,  laugh,  and  think  noth- 
ing disgraceful.  For  if  you  should  happen  to  be  detected 
as  an  adulterer,  you  will  make  this  reply  to  him,  "  that 
you  have  done  him  no  injury  ":  and  then  refer  him  to  Ju- 
piter, how  even  he  is  overcome  by  love  and  women.  And 
yet,  how  could  you,  who  are  a  mortal,  have  greater 
power  than  a  god  ? 

Just.  But  what  if  he  should  suffer  the  radish  through 
obeying  you,  and  be  depillated  with  hot  ashes?  What, 
argument  will  he  be  able  to  state,  to  prove  that  he  is  not  a 
blackguard  ? 

[Tnj.  And  if  he  be  a  blackguard,  what  harm  will  he  suffer? 

Just.  Nay,  what  could  he  ever  suffer  still  greater  than 
this? 

("iij.   What  then  will  you  say,  if  you  be  conquered  by 
me  in  this? 

Just.  I  will  be  silent:  what  else  can  I  do? 
l:nj.  Come  now,  tell  me  ;  from  what  class  do  the  ad- 
vocates come? 

Just.  From  the  blackguards. 

I'nj.  I  believe  you.     What  then?  from  what  class  do 
tragedians  come? 

Just.  From  the  blackguards. 

r///.   You  say  well.     But  from  what  class  do  the  pub- 
ators  come? 


THE    CLOUDS  331 

Just.  From  the  blackguards. 

Unj\  Then  have  you  perceived  that  you  say  nothing 
to  the  purpose?-  And  look  which  class  among  the  audi- 
ence is  the  more  numerous. 

Just.  Well  now,  I'm  looking. 

Unj.  What,  then,  do  you  see  ? 

Just.  By  the  gods,  the  blackguards  to  be  far  more  nu- 
merous. This  fellow,  at  any  rate,  I  know  ;  and  him  yon- 
der ;  and  this  fellow  with  the  long  hair. 

Unj.  What,  then,  will  you  say  ? 

Just.  We  are  conquered.  Ye  blackguards,  by  the 
gods,  receive  my  cloak,  for  I  desert  to  you.  {Exeunt  the 
Two  CAUSES,  and  re-enter  SOCRATES  and  STREPSIADES. 

Soc.  What  then  ?  Whether  do  you  wish  to  take  and 
lead  away  this  your  son,  or  shall  I  teach  him  to  speak  ? 

Strep.  Teach  him,  and  chastise  him  :  and  remember 
that  you  train  him  properly  ;  on  the  one  side  able  for 
petty  suits ;  but  train  his  other  jaw  able  for  the  more  im- 
portant causes. 

Soc.  Make  yourself  easy  ;  you  shall  receive  him  back  a 
clever  sophist. 

Strep.  Nay,  rather,  pale  and  wretched.  [Exeunt  SOC- 
RATES, STREPSIADES,  and  PHIDIPPIDES. 

Clio.  Go  ye,  then  :  but  I  think  that  you  will  repent  of 
these  proceedings.  We  wish  to  speak  about  the  judges, 
what  they  will  gain,  if  at  all  they  justly  assist  this  Chorus. 
For  in  the  first  place,  if  you  wish  to  plough  up  your  fields 
in  spring,  we  will  rain  for  you  first;  but  for  the  others 
afterward.  And  then  we  will  protect  the  fruits,  and  the 
vines,  so  that  neither  drought  afflict  them,  nor  excessive 
wet  weather.  But  if  any  mortal  dishonour  us  who  are 
goddesses,  let  him  consider  what  evils  he  will  suffer  at  our 
hands,  obtaining  neither  wine  nor  anything  else  from  his 
farm.  For  when  his  olives  and  vines  sprout,  they  shall  be 
cut  down  ;  with  such  slings  will  we,  smite  them.  And  if 
we  see  him  making  brick,  we  will  rain  ;  and  we  will  smash 
the  tiles  of  his  roof  with  round  hailstones.  And  if  he  him- 


332  ARISTOPHANES 

self,  or  any  one  of  his  kindred  or  friends,  at  any  time 
marry,  we  will  rain  the  whole  night;  so  that  he  will 
probably  wish  rather  to  have  been  even  in  Egypt  than  to 
have  judged  badly. 

Enter  STREPSIADES  with  a  meal-sack  on  his  shoulder 
Strep.  The  fifth,  the  fourth,  the  third,  after  this  the 
second  ;  and  then,  of  all  days  what  I  most  fear,  and  dread, 
and  abominate,  immediately  after  this  there  is  the  Old  and 
New.  For  every  one,  to  whom  1  happen  to  be  indebted, 
swears,  and  says  he  will  ruin  and  utterly  destroy  me,  hav- 
ing made  his  deposits  against  me ;  though  1  onlv  ask  what 
is  moderate  and  just — "  My  good  sir,  one  part  don't  take* 
just  now  ;  the  other  part  put  off,  I  pray  ;  and  the  other 
part  remit"  ;  they  say  that  thus  thev  will  never  get  back 
their  money,  but  abuse  me,  as  that  I  am  unjust,  and  say  that 
they  will  go  to  law  with  me.  Now  therefore  let  them  go 
to  law,  for  it  little  concerns  me,  if  Phidippides  has  learned 
to  speak  well.  I  shall  soon  know  bv  knocking  at  the 
thinking-shop.  \Knocks  at  the  door.~]  Boy,  I  say!  Boy, 

boy  ! 

Enter  SOCRATES 

Soc.  Good-morning,  Strepsiades. 

Strep.  The  same  to  you.  But  first  accept  this  present ; 
for  one  ought  to  compliment  the  teacher  with  a  fee.  And 
tell  me  about  my  son,  if  he  has  learned  that  cause,  which 
you  just  now  brought  forward. 

Soc.  He  has  learned  it. 

Strep.  Well  done,  O  Fraud,  all-powerful  queen  ! 

Soc.  So  that  you  can  get  clear  off  from  whatever  suit 
you  please. 

Strep.  Even  if  witnesses  were  present  when  I  borrowed 
the  money? 

Soc.  Yea,  much  more !  even  if  a  thousand  be  present. 

Strep.  Then  I  will  shout  with  a  very  loud  shout :  Ho ! 

•p,  you  petty-usurers,  both  you  and  your  principals, 
and  your  compound  interests  !  for  you  can  no  longer  do 


THE    CLOUDS  333 

me  any  harm,  because  such  a  son  is  being  reared  for  me 
in  this  house,  shining  with  a  double-edged  tongue,  my 
guardian,  the  preserver  of  my  house,  a  mischief  to  my 
enemies,  ending  the  sadness  of  the  great  woes  of  his 
father.  Him  do  thou  run  and  summon  from  within  to 
me.  [SOCRATES  goes  into  the  house.]  O  child  !  O  son  ! 
come  forth  from  the  house  !  hear  your  father ! 

Re-enter  SOCRATES  leading  in  PHIDIPPIDES 

Soc.  Lo,  here  is  the  man  ! 

Strep.  O  my  dear,  my  dear ! 

Soc.  Take  your  son  and  depart.  [Exit  SOCRATES. 

Strep.  Oh,  oh,  my  child!  Huzza!  Huzza!  how  I  am 
delighted  at  the  first  sight  of  your  complexion!  Now, 
indeed,  you  are,  in  the  first  place,  negative  and  disputa- 
tious to  look  at,  and  this  fashion  native  to  the  place  plainly 
appears,  the  "  What  do  you  say  ?"  and  the  seeming  to  be 
injured  when,  I  well  know,  you  are  injuring  and  inflicting 
a  wrong  ;  and  in  your  countenance  there  is  the  Attic  look. 
Now,  therefore,  see  that  you  save  me,  since  you  have  also 
ruined  me. 

Pliid.  What,  pray,  do  you  fear? 

Strep.  The  Old  and  New. 

PJiid.  Why,  is  any  day  old  and  new  ? 

Strep.  Yes  ;  on  which  they  say  that  they  will  make 
their  deposits  against  me. 

Phid.  Then  those  that  have  made  them  will  lose  them  ; 
for  it  is  not  possible  that  two  days  can  be  one  day. 

Strep.  Can  not  it  ? 

Phid.  Certainly  not ;  unless  the  same  woman  can  be 
both  old  and  young  at  the  same  time. 

Strep.  And  yet  it  is  the  law. 

Phid.  For  they  do  not,  I  think,  rightly  understand 
what  the  law  means. 

Strep.  And  what  does  it  mean? 

Phid.  The  ancient  Solon  was  by  nature  the  commons' 
friend. 


334  ARISTOPHANES 

Strep.  This  surely  is  nothing  whatever  to  the  Old  and 
New. 

Phid.  He  therefore  made  the  summons  for  two  days, 
for  the  Old  and  New,  that  the  deposits  might  be  made  on 
the  first  of  the  month. 

Strep.  Why,  pray,  did  he  add  the  old  day  ? 

Phid.  In  order,  my  good  sir,  that  the  defendants,  being 
present  a  day  before,  might  compromise  the  matter  of 
their  own  accord  ;  but  if  not,  that  they  might  be  worried 
on  the  morning  of  the  new  moon. 

Strep.  Why,  then,  do  the  magistrates  not  receive  the 
deposits  on  the  new  moon,  but  on  the  Old  and  New  ? 

Phid.  They  seem  to  me  to  do  what  the  forestallers  do: 
in  order  that  they  may  appreciate  the  deposits  as  soon 
as  possible,  on  this  account  they  have  the  first  pick  by 
one  day. 

Strep,  (turning  to  the  audience).  Bravo  !  ye  wretches,  why 
do  you  sit  senseless,  the  gain  of  us  wise  men,  being  blocks, 
ciphers,  mere  sheep,  jars  heaped  together?  Wherefore  I 
must  sing  an  encomium  upon  myself  and  this  my  son,  on 
account  of  our  good  fortune. — "  O  happy  Strepsiades ! 
how  wise  you  are  yourself,  and  how  excellent  is  the  son 
whom  you  are  rearing !  "  my  friends  and  fellow-tribes- 
men will  say  of  me,  envying  me,  when  you  prove  vic- 
torious in  arguing  causes. — But  first  I  wish  to  lead 
you  in  and  entertain  you.  [Exeunt  STREPSIADES  and 

PHIDIPPIDES. 

l\isias  (entering  with  his  summons-witness).  Then,  ought 
a  man  to  throw  away  any  part  of  his  own  property? 
Never!  but  it  were  better  then  at  once  to  put  away 
blushes,  rather  than  now  to  have  trouble  ;  since  I  am  now 
dragging  you  to  be  a  witness,  for  the  sake  of  my  own 
money;  and  further,  in  addition  to  this,  I  shall  become 
an  enemy  to  my  fellow-tribesman.  But  never,  while  I 
live,  will  I  disgrace  my  country,  but  will  summon  Strep- 
siades— 

Strep,  (from  within).   Who's  there? 


THE   CLOUDS  335 

Enter-  STREPSIADES 

Pas.  For  the  Old  and  New. 

Strep.  I  call  you  to  witness,  that  he  has  named  it  for 
two  days.  For  what  matter  do  you  summon  me? 

Pas.  For  the  twelve  minas,  which  you  received  when 
you  were  buying  the  dapple-gray  horse. 

Strep.  A  horse? — Do  you  not  hear?  I,  whom  you  all 
know  to  hate  horsemanship  ! 

Pas.  And,  by  Jupiter!  you  swore  by  the  gods  too,  that 
you  would  repay  it. 

Strep.  Ay,  by  Jove !  for  then  my  Phidippides  did  not 
yet  know  the  irrefragable  argument. 

Pas.  And  do  you  now  intend,  on  this  account,  to  deny 
the  debt? 

Strep.  Why,  what  good  should  I  get  else  from  his  in- 
struction ? 

Pas.  And  will  you  be  willing  to  deny  these  upon  oath 
of  the  gods? 

Strep.  What  gods? 

Pas.  Jupiter,  Mercury,  and  Neptune. 

Strep.  Yes,  by  Jupiter !  and  would  pay  down,  too,  a 
three-obol  piece  besides  to  swear. 

Pas.  Then  may  you  perish  some  day  for  your  im- 
pudence ! 

Strep.  This  man  would  be  the  better  for  it  if  he  were 
cleansed  by  rubbing  with  salt. 

Pas.  Ah  me,  how  you  deride  me ! 

Strep.  He  will  contain  six  choae. 

Pas.  By  great  Jupiter  and  the  gods,  you  certainly  shall 
not  do  this  to  me  with  impunity  ! 

Strep.  I  like  your  gods  amazingly  ;  and  Jupiter,  sworn 
by,  is  ridiculous  to  the  knowing  ones. 

Pas.  You  will  assuredly  suffer  punishment,  some  time 
or  other,  for  this.  But  answer  and  dismiss  me,  whether 
you  are  going  to  repay  me  my  money,  or  not. 

Strep.  Keep  quiet  now,  for  I  will  presently  answer  you 
distinctly.  [Runs  into  the  house. 


336  ARISTOPHANES 

Pas.  (to  his  summons-iint ness).  What  do  you  think  he 
will  do  ? 

Witness.  I  think  he  will  pay  you. 

Re-enter  STREPSIADKS  ivith  a  kneading-trough 

Strep.  Where  is  this  man  who  asks  me  for  his  money  ? 
Tell  me  what  is  this? 

Pas.  What  this  is  ?  a  tcdpSoTros. 

Strep.  And  do  you  then  ask  me  for  your  money,  being 
such  an  ignorant  person  ?  I  would  not  pay,  not  even  an 
obolus,  to  any  one  who  called  the  tcapboTrr)  tcdpSoTros. 

Pits.  Then  won't  you  pay  me  ? 

Strep.  Not,  as  far  as  I  know.  Will  you  not  then  pack 
off  as  fast  as  possible  from  my  door? 

Pas.  I  will  depart ;  and  be  assured  of  this,  that  I  will 
make  deposit  against  you,  or  may  I  live  no  longer ! 

Strep.  Then  you  will  lose  it  besides,  in  addition  to  your 
twelve  minae.  And  yet  I  do  not  wish  you  to  suffer  this, 
because  you  named  the  KapBoTros  foolishly.  [Exeunt  PASIAS 
and  WlTXKSS,  and  enter  AMVNIAS. 

Amynias.  Ah  me  !  ah  me  ! 

Strep.  Ha  !  whoever  is  this,  who  is  lamenting  ?  Surely 
it  was  not  one  of  Carcinus's  deities  that  spoke. 

Amyn.  But  why  do  you  wish  to  know  this,  who  I  am? 
— a  miserable  man. 

Strep.  Then  follow  your  own  path. 

Amyn.  O  harsh  fortune!  O  Fates,  breaking  the 
wheels  of  my  horses !  O  Pallas,  how  you  have  de- 
stroyed me ! 

Strep.  What  evil,  pray,  has  Tlepolemus  ever  done  you? 

Amyn.  Do  not  jeer  me,  my  friend  ;  but  order  your  son 
to  pay  me  the  money  which  he  received  ;  especially  as  I 
have  been  unfortunate. 

Strep.  What  money  is  this  ? 

Amyn.  That  which  he  borrowed. 

Strep.  Then  you  were  really  unlucky,  as  I  think. 

Amyn.   By  the  gods,  I  fell  while  driving  my  horses. 


THE    CLOUDS  337 

Strep.  Why,  pray,  do  you  talk  nonsense,  as  if  you  had 
fallen  from  an  ass  ? 

Amyn.  Do  I  talk  nonsense  if  I  wish  to  recover  my 
money  ? 

Strep.  You  can't  be  in  your  senses  yourself. 

Amyn.  Why,  pray  ? 

Strep.  You  appear  to  me  to  have  had  your  brains  shaken 
as  it  were. 

Amyn.  And  you  appear  to  me,  by  Hermes,  to  be  going 
to  be  summoned,  if  you  will  not  pay  me  the  money  ? 

Strep.  Tell  me  now,  whether  you  think  that  Jupiter 
always  rains  fresh  rain  on  each  occasion,  or  that  the  sun 
draws  from  below  the  same  water  back  again  ? 

Amyn.  I  know  not  which ;  nor  do  I  care. 

Strep.  How  then  is  it  just  that  you  should  recover 
your  money,  if  you  know  nothing  of  meteorological  mat- 
ters? 

Amyn.  Well,  if  you  are  in  want,  pay  me  the  interest  of 
my  money. 

Strep.  What  sort  of  animal  is  this  interest? 

Amyn.  Most  assuredly  the  money  is  always  becoming 
more  and  more  every  month  and  every  day  as  the  time 
slips  away. 

Strep.  You  say  well.  What  then  ?  Is  it  possible  that 
you  consider  the  sea  to  be  greater  now  than  formerly  ? 

Amyn.  No,  by  Jupiter,  but  equal :  for  it  is  not  fitting 
that  it  should  be  greater. 

Strep.  And  how  then,  you  wretch,  does  this  become  no 
way  greater,  though  the  rivers  flow  into  it,  while  you  seek 
to  increase  your  money  ? — Will  you  not  take  yourself  off 
from  my  house  ?  Bring  me  the  goad. 

Enter  SERVANT  with  a  goad 

Amyn.  I  call  you  to  witness  these  things. 
Strep,  (beating  hint).  Go !  why  do  you  delay  ?     Won't 
you  march,  Mr.  Blood-horse  ? 

Amyn.  Is  not  this  an  insult,  pray  ? 


338  ARISTnl'HANKS 

Strep.  Will  you  move  quickly?  [Tricks  him  behind 
•with  the  goad.'}  I'll  lay  on  you,  goading  you  behind,  you 
outrigger?  Do  you  fly  ?  [  A.MVMAS  rnns  off.}  I  thought 
I  should  stir  you,  together  with  your  wheels  and  your 
two-horse  chariots.  {Exit  STRKI-SIAI-KS. 

Cho.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  love  evil  courses!  For  this 
old  man,  having  loved  them,  wishes  to  withhold  the 
money  that  he  borrowed.  And  he  will  certainly  meet 
with  something  to-day,  which  will  perhaps  cause  this 
sophist  to  suddenly  receive  some  misfortune,  in  return 
for  the  knaveries  he  has  begun.  For  I  think  that  he  will 
presently  find  what  has  been  long  boiling  up,  that  his  son 
is  skilful  to  speak  opinions  opposed  to  justice,  so  as  to 
overcome  all  with  whomsoever  he  holds  converse,  even 
if  he  advance  most  villainous  doctrines;  and  perhaps,  per- 
haps his  father  will  wish  that  he  were  even  speechless. 

Strep,  (running  out  of  (he  house  pursued  by  his  son}. 
Hollo !  Hollo  !  O  neighbours  and  kinsfolk  and  fellow- 
tribesmen,  defend  me,  by  all  means,  who  am  being 
beaten  !  Ah  me,  unhappy  man,  for  my  head  and  jaw  ! 
Wretch  !  do  you  beat  your  father  ? 

P/iid.  Yes,  father. 

Strep.  You  see  him  owning  that  he  beats  me. 

Phid.  Certainly. 

Strep.  ()  wretch,  and  parricide,  and  house-breaker! 

Phid.  Say  the  same  things  of  me  again,  and  more.  Do 
you  know  that  I  take  pleasure  in  being  much  abused  ? 

Strep.   You  blackguard  ! 

Phid.  Sprinkle  me  with  roses  in  abundance. 

Strep.   Do  you  beat  your  father? 

Phid.  And  will  prove  too,  by  Jupiter!  that  I  beat  you 
with  justice. 

Stn-p.  ()  thou  most  rascally!  Why,  how  can  it  be 
just  to  beat  a  father? 

Phid.   I  will   demonstrate  it,  and  will  overcome  you  in 

ument. 

Strep.    Will  \<m  overcome  me  in  this? 


THE   CLOUDS  339 

Phid.  Yea,  by  much  and  easily.  But  choose  which  of 
the  two  Causes  you  wish  to  speak. 

Strep.  Of  what  two  Causes  ? 

PI dd.  The  better,  or  the  worse  ? 

Strep.  Marry,  I  did  get  you  taught  to  speak  against 
justice,  by  Jupiter,  my  friend,  if  you  are  going  to  per- 
suade me  of  this,  that  it  is  just  and  honourable  for  a 
father  to  be  beaten  by  his  sons  ! 

Phid.  I  think  I  shall  certainly  persuade  you  ;  so  that, 
when  you  have  heard,  not  even  you  yourself  will  say  any- 
thing against  it. 

Strep.  Well,  now,  I  am  willing  to  hear  what  you  have 
to  say. 

Cho.  It  is  your  business,  old  man,  to  consider  in  what 
way  you  shall  conquer  the  man  ;  for,  if  he  were  not  rely- 
ing upon  something,  he  would  not  be  so  licentious.  But 
he  is  emboldened  by  something;  the  boldness  of  the  man 
is  evident.  Now  you  ought  to  tell  to  the  Chorus  from 
what  the  contention  first  arose.  And  this  you  must  do 
by  all  means. 

Strep.  Well,  now,  I  will  tell  you  from  what  we  first  be- 
gan to  rail  at  one  another.  After  we  had  feasted,  as  you 
know,  I  first  bade  him  take  a  lyre,  and  sing  a  song  of 
Simonides,  "The  Shearing  of  the  Ram."  But  he  imme- 
diately said  it  was  old-fashioned  to  play  on  the  lyre,  and 
sing  while  drinking,  like  a  woman  grinding  parched 
barley. 

Phid.  For  ought  you  not  then  immediately  to  be 
beaten  and  trampled  on,  bidding  me  sing,  just  as  if  you 
were  entertaining  cicadae  ? 

Strep.  He  expressed,  however,  such  opinions  then  too 
within,  as  he  does  now  ;  and  he  asserted  that  Simonides 
was  a  bad  poet.  I  bore  it  at  first,  with  difficulty,  indeed, 
yet  nevertheless  I  bore  it.  And  then  I  bade  him  at  least 
take  a  myrtle-wreath  and  recite  to  me  some  portion  of 
^Eschylus ;  and  then  he  immediately  said,  "Shall  I  con- 
§ider  Jischylus  the  first  among  the  poets,  full  of  empty 


340  ARISTOPHANES 

sound,  unpolished,  bombastic,  using  rugged  Words?" 
And'  hereupon  you  can't  think  how  my  heart  panted. 
But,  nevertheless,  I  restrained  my  passion,  and  said,  "  At 
least  recite  some  passage  of  the  more  modern  poets,  of 
whatever  kind  these  clever  things  be."  And  he  imme- 
diately sang  a  passage  of  Euripides,  how  a  brother,  O 
averter  of  ill !  debauched  his  uterine  sister.  And  I  bore 
it  no  longer,  but  immediately  assailed  him  with  many 
abusive  reproaches.  And  then,  after  that,  as  was  natural, 
we  hurled  word  upon  word.  Then  he  springs  upon  me  ; 
and  then  he  was  wounding  me,  and  beating  me,  and  throt- 
tling me,  and  killing  me. 

Phid.  Were  you  not  therefore  justly  beaten,  who  do 
not  praise  Euripides,  the  wisest  of  poets? 

Strep.  He  the  wisest !  Oh,  what  shall  I  call  you  ? 
But  I  shall  get  beaten  again. 

Phid.  Yes,  by  Jupiter,  with  justice  ! 

Strep.  Why,  how  with  justice?  Who,  O  shameless 
fellow,  reared  you,  understanding  all  your  wishes,  when 
you  lisped  what  you  meant?  If  you  said  bryn,  I,  under- 
standing it,  used  to  give  you  to  drink.  And  when  you 
asked  for  mamman,  I  used  to  come  to  you  with  bread. 
And  you  used  no  sooner  to  say  caccan,  than  I  used  to 
take  and  carry  you  out  of  doors,  and  hold  you  before  me. 
But  you  now,  throttling  me  who  was  bawling  and  crying 
out  because  I  wanted  to  ease  myself,  had  not  the  heart  to 
carry  me  forth  out  of  doors,  you  wretch  ;  but  I  did  it 
there,  while  I  was  being  throttled. 

Cho.  I  fancy  the  hearts  of  the  youths  are  panting  to 
hear  what  he  will  say.  For  if,  after  having  done  such 
things,  he  shall  persuade  him  by  speaking,  I  would  not 
take  the  hide  of  the  old  folks,  even  at  the  price  of  a  chick- 
pea. It  is  thy  business,  thpu  author  and  upheaver  of  new 
words  to  seek  some  means  of  persuasion,  so  that  you  shall 
seem  to  speak  justly. 

Phid.  I  low  pleasant  it  is  to  be  acquainted  with  new 
and  clever  things,  and  to  In-  able  to  despise  the  established 


THE   CLOUDS  34! 

laws !  For  I,  when  I  applied  my  mind  to  horsemanship 
alone,  used  not  to  be  able  to  utter  three  words  before  I 
made  a  mistake  ;  but  now,  since  he  himself  has  made  me 
cease  from  these  pursuits,  and  I  am  acquainted  with  sub- 
tle thoughts,  and  arguments,  and  speculations,  I  think  I 
shall  demonstrate  that  it  is  just  to  chastise  one's  father. 

Strep.  Ride,  then,  by  Jupiter !  since  it  is  better  for 
me  to  keep  a  team  of  four  horses,  than  to  be  killed  with 
beating. 

Phid.  I  will  pass  over  to  that  part  of  my  discourse 
where  you  interrupted  me  ;  and  first  I  will  ask  you  this : 
Did  you  beat  me  when  I  was  a  boy  ? 

Strep.  I  did,  through  good-will  and  concern  for  you. 

Phid.  Pray  tell  me,  is  it  not  just  that  I  also  should  be 
well  inclined  toward  you  in  the  same  way,  and  beat  you, 
since  this  is  to  be  well  inclined — to  give  a  beating?  For 
why  ought  your  body  to  be  exempt  from  blows,  and  mine 
not?  And  yet  I  too  was  born  free.  The  boys  weep,  and 
do  you  not  think  it  right  that  a  father  should  weep  ?  You 
will  say  that  it  is  ordained  by  law  that  this  should  be  the 
lot  of  boys.  But  I  would  reply,  that  old  men  are  boys 
twice  over,  and  that  it  is  the  more  reasonable  that -the 
old  should  weep  than  the  young,  inasmuch  as  it  is  less 
just  that  they  should  err. 

Strep.  It  is  nowhere  ordained  by  law  that  a  father 
should  suffer  this. 

Phid.  Was  it  not  then  a  man  like  you  and  me,  who 
first  proposed  this  law,  and  by  speaking  persuaded  the 
ancients?  Why  then  is  it  less  lawful  for  me  also  in 
turn  to  propose  henceforth  a  new  law  for  the  sons,  that 
they  should  beat  their  fathers  in  turn  ?  But  as  many 
blows  as  we  received  before  the  law  was  made,  we  re- 
mit ;  and  we  concede  to  them  our  having  been  well 
thrashed  without  return.  Observe  the  cocks  and  these 
other  animals,  how  they  punish  their  fathers ;  and  yet, 
in  what  do  they  differ  from  us,  except  that  they  do  not 
write  decrees  ? 


342  ARISTOPHANES 

Strep.  Why  then,  since  you  imitate  the  cocks  in  all 
things,  do  you  not  both  eat  dung  and  sleep  on  a  perch  ? 

Pliid.  It  is  not  the  same  thing,  my  friend  ;  nor  would 
it  appear  so  to  Socrates. 

Strep.  Therefore  do  not  beat  me  ;  otherwise  you  will 
one  day  blame  yourself. 

Phi'd.   Why,  how? 

Strep.  Since  I  am  justly  entitled  to  chastise  you ;  and 
you  to  chastise  your  son,  if  you  should  have  one. 

Pkid.  But  if  I  should  not  have  one,  I  shall  have  wept 
for  nothing,  and  you  will  die  laughing  at  me. 

Strep.  To  me,  indeed,  O  comrades,  he  seems  to  speak 
justly  ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  concede  to  them  what  is 
fitting.  For  it  is  proper  that  we  should  weep,  if  we  do 
not  act  justly. 

Pliid.  Consider  still  another  maxim. 

Strep.  No ;  for  I  shall  perish  if  I  do. 

Pkid.  And  yet  perhaps  you  will  not  be  vexed  at  suffer- 
ing what  you  now  suffer. 

Strep.  I  low,  pray?  for  inform  me  what  good  you  will 
do  me  by  this. 

Pkid.  I  will  beat  my  mother,  just  as  I  have  you. 

Strep.  What  do  you  say  ?  what  do  you  say  ?  This 
other,  again,  is  a  greater  wickedness. 

Pliid.  But  what  if,  having  the  worst.  Cause,  I  shall 
conquer  you  in  arguing,  proving  that  it  is  right  to  beat 
one's  mother  ? 

Strep.  Most  assuredly,  if  you  do  this,  nothing  will 
hinder  you  from  casting  yourself  and  your  Worse  Cause 
into  the  pit  along  with  Socrates. — These  evils  have  I  suf- 
fered through  you,  ()  Clouds  !  haying  intrusted  all  my 
affairs  to  you. 

C/i<>.  Nay,  rather,  you  are  yourself  the  cause  of  these 
things,  having  turned  yourself  to  wicked  courses. 

Strep.  Why.  prav,  did  you  not  tell  me  this,  then,  but 
excited  with  hopes  a  rustic  and  aged  man? 

Cko.   We  always  do  this  to  him  whom  we  perceive  to 


THE   CLOUDS  343 

be  a  lover  of  wicked  courses,  until  we  precipitate  him  into 
misfortune,  so  that  he  may  learn  to  fear  the  gods. 

Strep.  Ah  me!  it  is  severe,  O  Clouds!  but  it  is  just; 
for  I  ought  not  to  have  withheld  the  money  which  I  bor- 
rowed.— Now,  therefore,  come  with  me,  my  dearest  son, 
that  you  may  destroy  the  blackguard  Chserephon  and 
Socrates,  who  deceived  you  and  me. 

Phid.  I  will  not  injure  my  teachers. 

Strep.  Yes,  yes,  reverence  Paternal  Jove. 

Phid.  "  Paternal  Jove,"  quoth'a  !  How  antiquated  you 
are  !  Why,  is  there  any  Jove? 

Strep.  There  is. 

Phid.  There  is  not,  no ;  for  Vortex  reigns,  having  ex- 
pelled Jupiter. 

Strep.  He  has  not  expelled  him  ;  but  I  fancied  this,  on 
account  of  this  Vortex  here.  Ah  me,  unhappy  man ! 
when  I  even  took  you  who  are  of  earthenware  for 
a  god. 

Phid.  Here  rave  and  babble  to  yourself.  {Exit  Pm- 
DIPPIDES. 

Strep.  Ah  me,  what  madness!  How  mad,  then,  I  was, 
when  I-  ejected  the  gods  on  account  of  Socrates !  But,  O 
dear  Hermes,  by  no  means  be  wroth  with  me,  nor  destroy 
me ;  but  pardon  me,  since  I  have  gone  crazy  through 
prating.  And  become  my  adviser,  whether  I  shall  bring 
an  action  and  prosecute  them,  or  whatever  you  think. — 
You  advise  me  rightly,  not  permitting  me  to  get  up  a 
lawsuit,  but  as  soon  as  possible  to  set  fire  to  the  house  of 
the  prating  fellows.  Come  hither,  come  hither,  Xanthias  ! 
Come  forth  with  a  ladder,  and  with  a  mattock,  and  then 
mount  upon  the  thinking-shop,  and  dig  down  the  roof,  if 
you  love  your  master,  until  you  tumble  the  house  upon 
them.  [XANTHIAS  mounts  upon  the  roof.}  But  let  some 
one  bring  me  a  lighted  torch,  and  I'll  make  some  of  them 
this  day  suffer  punishment,  even  if  they  be  ever  so  much 
impostors. 

ist  Dis.  (from  witJiiti).   Hollo  !  hollo  ! 


344 


ARISTOPHANES 


Strep.  It  is  your  business,  O  torch,  to  send  forth  abun- 
dant flame.  [Mounts  upon  the  roof. 

ist  Dis.  What  are  you  doing,  fellow  ? 

Strep.  What  am  I  doing?  why,  what  else,  than  chop- 
ping logic  with  the  beams  of  your  house  ?  [Sets  the  house 
on  fire. 

2d Dis.  (from  within).  Ah  me!  who  is  setting  fire  to 
our  house? 

Strep.  That  man,  whose  cloak  you  have  taken. 

jd  Dis.  (from  within).  You  will  destroy  us !  you  will 
destroy  us ! 

Strep.  For  I  also  wish  this  very  thing ;  unless  my  mat- 
tock deceive  my  hopes,  or  I  should  somehow  fall  first  and 
break  my  neck. 

Soc.  (from  within).  Hollo  you!  what  are  you  doing, 
pray,  you  fellow  on  the  roof? 

Strep.  I  am  walking  on  air,  and  speculating  about 
the  sun. 

Soc.  Ah  me,  unhappy  !  I  shall  be  suffocated,  wretched 
man  ! 

CJucr.  And  I,  miserable  man,  shall  be  burnt  to  death !  ' 

Strep.  For  what  has  come  into  your  heads  that  you 
acted  insolently  toward  the  gods,  and  pried  into  the  seat 
of  the  moon?  Chase,  pelt,  smite  them,  for  many  reasons, 
but  especially  because  you  know  that  they  offended  against 
the  gods  !  \_The  thinking-shop  is  burned  di>i<.'n. 

Cho.  Lead  the  way  out ;  for  we  have  sufficiently  acted 
as  chorus  for  to-day.  [Exeunt  ownes. 


THE  PLUTUS  OF  ARISTOPHANES 

TRANSLATED    BY 

WILLIAM   JAMES   HICKIE 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


CHREMYLUS. 

CARIO,  Servant  of  Chremylus. 

CHORUS  OF  COUNTRY-PEOPLE. 

PLUTUS,  the  God  of  Riches. 

BLEPSIDEMUS. 

POVERTY. 

WIFE  OF  CHREMYLUS. 

JUST  MAN. 

INFORMER. 

OLD  WOMAN. 

YOUNG  MAN. 

MERCURY. 

PRIEST  OF  JUPITER. 

SCENE  :  The  front  of  a  farm-house  with  a  road  leading 
to  it.  A  blind  old  man  is  seen  followed  at  some  distance 
by  CHREMYLUS  and  his  servant  CARIO. 


PLUTUS 


CARIO.  How  troublesome  a  thing  it  is,  O  Jupiter  and 
ye  gods,  to  be  the  slave  of  a  crazy  master !  For  if 
the  servant  should  happen  to  have  given  the  best 
advice,  and  it  should  seem  fit  to  his  master  not  to  do  this, 
it  must  be  that  the  servant  share  the  evils ;  for  fortune 
suffers  not  the  natural  owner  to  be  master  of  his  person, 
but  the  purchaser.  And  so  much  for  this.  But  Loxias, 
who  prophesies  from  his  tripod  of  beaten  gold,  I  censure 
with  this  just  censure,  because  being  a  physician  and  a 
clever  soothsayer,  as  they  say,  he  has  sent  away  my  mas- 
ter melancholy-mad,  who  is  following  behind  a  blind  man, 
acting  contrary  to  what  it  became  him  to  do;  for  we 
who  see  lead  the  blind ;  whereas  he  follows  him,  and 
compels  me  besides  ;  and  that  too  without  even  answering 
a  syllable  at  all.  Therefore  it  is  not  possible  for  me  to 
hold  my  tongue,  unless  you  tell  me,  master,  for  what  in 
the  world  we  are  following  this  man,  but  I  will  give  you 
trouble  ;  for  you  will  not  beat  me  while  I  wear  the  chaplet. 

Chremylus.  No,  by  Jove !  but  if  you  trouble  me  in  any 
way,  I'll  do  it  when  I  have  taken  away  your  chaplet,  that 
you  may  grieve  the  more. 

Ca.  Nonsense !  for  I  will  not  cease  until  you  tell  me 
who  in  the  world  this  is ;  for  I  ask  it,  being  exceedingly 
well  disposed  to  you. 

Chr.  Well,  then,  I  will  not  hide  it  from  you,  for  I  do 

349 


350  ARISTOPHANES 

believe  you  to  be  the  most  faithful  of  my  domestics,  and 
—the  arrantest  thief.  I,  though  a  religious  and  just  man, 
was  unprosperous  and  poor. 

Ca.  In  truth  I  know  it. 

Chr.  While  others,  sacrilegious  persons,  demagogues, 
and  informers,  and  villains,  were  rich. 

Ca.  I  believe  you. 

Chr.  So  I  went  to  the  god  to  consult  him,  thinking 
that  my  own  life,  unhappy  man,  had  now  nearly  been 
wasted  away,  but  to  ask  about  my  son,  who  is  my  only 
one,  if  he  ought  to  change  his  habits  and  be  knavish,  un- 
just, nothing  good  ;  since  I  thought  this  very  thing  to  be 
advantageous  for  life. 

Ca.  What  then  did  Phcebus  proclaim  from  among  his 
chaplets? 

Chr.  You  shall  hear ;  for  the  god  told  me  this  plainly : 
whomsoever  I  should  first  meet  with  on  going  out,  him 
he  bid  me  never  let  go,  but  prevail  on  him  to  accompany 
me  home. 

Ca.  And  whom  then  did  you  first  meet  with  ? 

Chr.  With  this  man. 

Ca.  Then  did  you  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the 
god,  when  it  directed  you,  O  most  stupid,  in  the  plainest 
terms,  to  educate  your  son  after  the  fashion  of  the  country  ? 

Chr.  By  what  do  you  judge  of  this? 

Ca.  It  is  evident  that  even  a  blind  man  fancies  he 
knows  this,  that  it  is  very  advantageous  to  practise  no 
virtue  in  these  times. 

Chr.  It  is  not  possible  that  the  oracle  inclines  to  this, 
but  to  something  else  of  greater  moment.  But  if  this  fel- 
low tell  us  who  in  the  world  he  is,  and  on  account  of  what, 
and  in  want  of  what  he  came  hither  with  us,  we  might 
understand  what  our  oracle  means. 

Ca.  (to  PLUTUS).  Come  now,  do  you  declare  yourself 
who  you  are,  before  I  do  what  comes  next?     You  must 
be  very  quick  about  speaking. 
A  plague  take  you  ! 


PLUTUS  351 

Ca.  (to  CIIREMYLUS).  Do  you  understand  whom  he  pro- 
fesses himself  to  be  ? 

Chr.  He  says  this  to  you,  not  to  me ;  for  you  inquire 
of  him  uncouthly  and  roughly.  But  \to  PLUTUS]  if  you 
take  any  pleasure  in  the  manners  of  a  man  of  honour, 
tell  me ! 

Phi.  Go,  hang  yourself ! 

Ca.  Take  the  man,  and  omen  of  the  god. 

Chr.  By  Ceres,  you  certainly  shall  not  any  longer  escape 
unpunished  ! 

Ca.  For  unless  you  will  tell  us,  I  will  kill  you,  you 
wretch,  in  a  wretched  way. 

Plu.  Good  sirs,  depart  from  me. 

Chr.  Not  a  whit. 

Ca.  Well,  now,  what  I  say  is  best,  master:  I'll  kill  this 
fellow  in  a  most  wretched  way ;  for  I  will  set  him  up  on 
some  precipice  and  leave  him  and  go  away,  that  he  may 
fall  and  break  his  neck. 

Chr.  Well,  up  with  him  quickly. 

Plu.  By  no  means. 

Chr.  Will  you  not  tell  us  then? 

Plu.  But  if  you  learn  who  I  am,  1  well  know  that  you 
will  do  me  some  mischief,  and  not  let  me  go. 

Chr.  By  the  gods  will  we,  if  you  wish  it. 

Plu.  Then  first  let  me  go. 

Chr.  Lo  !  we  let  you  go. 

Plu.  Hear  now  ;  for,  as  it  seems,  I  must  speak  what  I 
was  prepared  to  conceal :  I  am  Plutus. 

Chr.  O  most  abominable  of  all  men  !  did  you  hold  your 
tongue  then,  you  Plutus  ? 

Ca.  You  Plutus,  so  wretchedly  circumstanced  ? 

Chr.  O  Phoebus  Apollo,  and  ye  gods  and  demons,  and 
Jove,  what  do  you  say  ?  Are  you  really  he  ? 

Plu.  Yes. 

Chr.  He  himself? 

Plu.  His  very  self. 

Chr.  Whence  then,  tell  us,  come  you  so  squalid? 


352  ARISTOPH. \xr.s 

Plu.  I  come  from  the  house  of  Patrocles,  who  has  not 
washed  himself  since  he  was  born. 

Chr.  But  how  did  you  suffer  this  mishap?  Declare  it 
to  me. 

Pin.  Jupiter  treated  me  in  this  manner  through  envy 
toward  mankind.  For  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  threatened 
that  I  would  go  to  the  just,  and  wise,  and  well-behaved 
alone.  So  he  made  me  blind,  that  I  might  not  distinguish 
any  of  these.  So  much  does  he  envy  the  good,  i 

Chr.  And  yet  he  is  honoured  by  the  good  and  the  just 
alone. 

Plu.  I  grant  you. 

C/tr.  Come,  what  then  ?  if  you  were  to  recover  your 
sight  again,  just  as  formerly,  would  you  now  shun  the 
wicked  ? 

Plu.  Certainly. 

Chr.  But  would  you  go  to  the  just? 

Plu.  Most  assuredly  ;  for  I  have  not  seen  them  for  a 
long  time. 

C/tr.  And  no  wonder  too ;  for  neither  have  I,  who  see. 

Plu.  Now  let  me  go;  for  now  you  know  all  about  me. 

Chr.  No,  by  Jove !  but  so  much  the  more  will  we  keep 
hold  of  you. 

Plu.  Did  I  not  say  that  you  would  cause  me  trouble  ? 

Chr.  And  do  you,  I  beseech  you,  comply,  and  do  not 
abandon  me ;  for  you  will  never  find  a  man  better  in  his 
morals  than  I,  if  you  search.  No,  by  Jove  !  for  there  is 
no  other  save  me. 

Plu.  They  all  say  this:  but  when  they  actually  get 
possession  of  me,  and  become  wealthy,  they  absolutely 
exceed  all  bounds  in  their  wickedness. 

Chr.  So  it  is ;  yet  all  are  not  wicked. 

Plu.  No,  by  Jove  !  not  all,  but  all  without  exception. 

Ca.  You  shall  suffer  for  it  severely. 

Chr.  And  that  you  may  know  how  many  blessings  you 
will  have,  if  you  stay  with  us,  give  your  attention,  that 
you  may  hear.  For  I  think,  I  think — with  God's  permis- 


PLUTUS  353 

sion  it  shall  be  spoken — that  I  shall  free  you  from  this 
blindness,  having  made  you  see. 

Plu.  By  no  means  do  this  ;  for  I  do  not  wish  to  recover 
my  sight  again. 

C/ir.  What  do  you  say  ? 

Ca.  This  fellow  is  a  born  miserable. 

Plu.  I  know  indeed  that  Jupiter  would  destroy  me,  if 
he  were  to  hear  of  the  follies  of  these  men. 

Chr.  But  does  he  not  do  this  now,  who  suffers  you  to 
go  about  stumbling? 

Plu.  I  know  not ;  but  I  dread  him  exceedingly. 

Chr.  What  really,  O  you  most  cowardly  of  all  deities? 
For  do  you  suppose  the  sovereignty  of  Jove  and  his  thun- 
derbolts would  be  worth  a  three-obol  piece,  if  you  should 
recover  your  sight,  if  it  were  but  for  a  short  time  ? 

Plu.  Ah !  say  not  so,  you  wretch  ! 

Chr.  Be  quiet ;  for  I  will  demonstrate  you  to  be  far 
more  powerful  than  Jupiter. 

Plu.  Me? 

Chr.  Ay,  by  Heaven !  For,  for  example,  through 
whom  does  Jupiter  rule  the  gods? 

Ca.  Through  money,  for  he  has  most  of  it. 

Chr.  Come,  who  then  is  it  that  supplies  him  with 
this? 

Ca. .  This  person  here. 

Chr.  And  through  whom  do  men  sacrifice  to  him  ?  is 
it  not  through  him  ? 

Ca.  And,  by  Jupiter  !  they  pray  openly  to  be  rich. 

Chr.  Is  not  he  then  the  cause,  and  might  he  not  easily 
put  an  end  to  this,  if  he  wished  ? 

Plu.  Why  so  ?  why,  pray  ? 

Chr.  Because  no  man  would  any  longer  sacrifice,  either 
ox  or  barley-cake,  or  anything  else  whatever,  if  you  were 
not  willing. 

Plu.  How? 

Chr.  How  ?  it  is  not  possible  for  him  to  purchase  it,  I 
ween,  unless  you  yourself  be  present  and  give  him  the 
23 


354 


ARISTOPHANES 


money;  so  that  you  alone  will  put  down  the  power  of 
Jove,  if  he  annoy  you  in  any  way. 

Pin.  What  do  you  say  ?  do  they  sacrifice  to  him 
through  me  ? 

Chr.  Certainly.  And,  by  Jupiter!  if  there  be  any- 
thing magnificent  and  beautiful  or  agreeable  to  men,  it  is 
through  you:  for  all  things  are  subservient  to  riches. 

Ca.  I,  in  truth,  have  become  a  slave  on  account  of  a 
trifling  sum  of  money,  because  I  was  not  equally  rich  as 
others. 

Chr.  And  they  say  that  the  Corinthian  courtesans, 
when  any  poor  man  tries  them,  do  not  even  pay  any 
attention  to  him,  but  if  a  rich  man  try,  that  they  imme- 
diately turn  anything  to  him. 

Ca.  And  they  say  that  the  boys  do  this  very  thing,  not 
for  their  lovers',  but  the  money's  sake. 

Chr.  Not  the  better  sort,  but  the  catamites ;  for  the 
better  sort  do  not  ask  for  money. 

Ca.  What  then? 

Chr.  One  asks  for  a  good  horse,  another  hunting  dogs. 

Ca.  For,  perhaps,  being  ashamed  to  ask  for  money, 
they  gloss  over  their  wickedness  by  a  false  name. 

Chr.  And  all  arts  and  clever  contrivances  among  men 
have  been  invented  through  you.  For  one  of  them  sits 
and  makes  shoes ;  and  some  other  one  is  a  smith,  and 
another  a  carpenter;  another  is  a  goldsmith,  having 
received  gold  from  you  ;  another,  by  Jove  !  steals  clothes  ; 
another  is  a  house-breaker ;  another  is  a  fuller ;  another 
washes  fleeces  ;  another  is  a  tanner  ;  another  sells  onions ; 
another,  having  been  detected  as  an  adulterer,  is  depil- 
lated  through  you. 

riu.  Ah  me,  miserable !  this  has  been  unknown  to  me 
this  long  while. 

Ca.  And  does  not  the  Great  King  pride  himself 
through  him?  And  is  not  the  Assembly  held  through 
him?  Hut  how?  do  you  not  man  the  triremes?  tell  me. 
Ami  does  not  he  support  the  mercenaries  in  Corinth? 


PLUTUS  355 

And  will  not  Pamphilus  suffer  through  him  ?  And  will 
not  the  "Needle-seller"  along  with  Pamphilus?  And 
does  not  Agyrrhius  spout  through  him  ?  And  [to  PLUTUS] 
does  not  Philepsius  relate  fables  on  account  of  you  ?  And 
is  not  the  alliance  with  the  Egyptians  through  you  ?  And 
does  not  Lais,  through  you,  love  Philonides?  And  the 
tower  of  Timotheus — 

Chr.  -  -  May  it  fall  upon  you.  And  [to  PLUTUS]  are 
not  all  our  affairs  transacted  through  you  ?  For  you  alone 
are  the  cause  of  all,  both  of  our  miseries  and  our  blessings, 
be  well  assured. 

Ca.  At  any  rate,  in  wars  also,  they  always  conquer, 
upon  whom  he  only  sits  down. 

Plu.  Am  I  able,  single  as  I  am,  to  effect  so  many 
things  ? 

CJir.  And,  by  Jupiter!  far  more  than  these  ;  so  that  no 
one  has  ever  at  any  time  been  sated  of  you.  For  of  all 
the  rest  there  is  a  satiety.  Of  love, 

Ca.  Of  bread, 

Chr.  Of  music, 

Ca.  Of  sweetmeats, 

C/ir.  Of  honour, 

Ca.  Of  cheese-cakes, 

Chr.  Of  manly  virtue, 

Ca.  Of  dried  figs, 

CJir.  Of  ambition, 

Ca.  Of  barley-cakes, 

C/ir.  Of  military  command, 

Ca.  Of  lentil-broth. 

Chr.  But  of  you  no  one  has  ever  at  any  time 'been 
sated.  But  if  any  one  get  thirteen  talents,  so  much  the 
more  does  he  desire  to  get  sixteen.  And  if  he  accomplish 
this,  he  wishes  for  forty,  or  he  says  his  life  is  not  worth 
living. 

Plu.  In  truth  you  appear  to  me  to  speak  exceedingly 
well ;  but  one  thing  only  I  fear. 

Chr.  Tell  us,  what  about. 


356  ARISTOPHANES 

Pin.  Ilo\v  I  shall  become  master  of  this  power  which 
you  say  1  have. 

Chr.  Yes,  by  Jove,  you  shall!  But  even  all  say  that 
wealth  is  a  most  timid  thing. 

rin.  By  no  means;  but  some  housebreaker  has  calum- 
niated me.  For  having  once  crept  into  the  house,  he  was 
not  able  to  get  anything,  having  found  everything  locked 
up  ;  so  then  he  called  my  forethought  cowardice. 

Chr.  Let  nothing  trouble  you  now  ;  for  if  you  be  a 
zealous  man  yourself  in  the  business,  I'll  make  you  more 
sharp-sighted  than  Lynceus. 

Pin.  How  then  will  you  be  able  to  do  this,  mortal  as 
you  are  ? 

Chr.  I  have  some  good  hope  from  what  Phoebus  him- 
self told  me,  having  shaken  the  Pythian  laurel. 

Plu.  And  was  he  then  privy  to  this? 

Chr.  Certainly. 

Plu.  Take  care ! 

Chr.  Do  not  be  at  all  concerned,  my  good  sir;  for  I, 
be  well  assured  of  this,  will  accomplish  this  myself,  even 
if  I  must  die  for  it. 

Ca.  And  I  too,  if  you  wish  it. 

Chr.  And  many  others  will  be  our  allies,  as  many  as 
had  no  bread,  though  thev  were  just. 

Plu.  Deary  me  !  you  tell  us  of  miserable  allies. 

Chr.  Not  so,  if  thev  become  rich  again  as  before.  Hut 
do  you  \to  CAKIO]  go  and  run  quickly — 

Ca.  What  am  I  to  do ?     Tell  me. 

Chr.  Call  my  fellow-labourers — and  you  will  probably 
find  them  working  hard  in  the  fields — that  each,  being 
present  here,  may  share  an  equal  portion  with  us  of  this 
Plutus. 

Ca.  Well  now,  I  am  going.  But  let  some  one  of  the 
servants  from  within  take  and  carry  in  this  small  bit  of 
meat. 

Chr.  (Inking  the  meat).  This  shall  be  mv  care:  but.Vun 
quickly.  [/:'.r// r.\Kl<>.  |  And  do  \ou,  ()  Plutus,  most  ex- 


PLUTUS  357 

cellent  of  all  gods,  go  in  this  way  with  me ;  for  this  is 
the  house  which  you  must  to-day  fill  with  riches,  by  fair 
means  or  by  foul. 

Pin,  But,  by  the  gods,  I  am  exceedingly  loath  to  be 
always  going  into  other  people's  houses.  For  I  never  at 
any  time  got  any  good  from  it.  For  if  I  chance  to  go 
into  the  house  of  a  miser,  he  immediately  buries  me  deep 
in  the  earth  :  and  if  any  good  man,  his  friend,  come  to 
him  asking  to  get  some  small  sum  of  money,  he  denies 
that  he  has  ever  at  any  time  even  seen  me.  But  if  I 
chance  to  go  into  the  house  of  a  mad  fellow,  I  am  ex- 
posed to  harlots  and  dice  and  driven  out  of  doors  naked 
in  a  moment  of  time. 

Ckr.  Yes ;  for  you  never  at  any  time  met  with  a  mod- 
erate man.  But  I  am  somehow  always  of  this  character. 
For  I  both  take  pleasure  in  saving,  as  never  man  did,  and 
again  in  spending,  whenever  there  is  occasion  for  it.  But 
let  us  go  in ;  for  I  wish  both  my  wife  to  see  you  and  my 
only  son,  whom  I  love  most  of  all — next  to  you. 

Plu.  I  believe  you. 

Chr.  For  why  should  one  not  tell  the  truth  to  you? 
[Exeunt  CHREMYLUS  and  PLUTUS. 

Ca.  Oh,  you  who  have  often  eaten  of  the  same  thyme 
with  my  master,  his  friends,  and  fellow-tribesmen,  and 
lovers  of  labour,  come,  make  haste,  hurry,  since  the 
time  does  not  admit  delay,  but  it  is  at  the  very  crisis 
at  which  you  ought  to  be  present  and  lend  your  aid. 

Chorus  of  Country-people.  Don't  you  see  then  that  we 
have  been  actively  hastening  this  long  while,  as  is  reason- 
able those  should  who  are  now  feeble  old  men?  But 
you,  perhaps,  expect  that  I  should  run,  before  you  even 
tell  me  this,  on  what  account  your  master  has  called  me 
hither. 

Ca.  Have  I  not  then,  I  ween,  been  telling  you  this  long 
while?  It  is  you  yourself  that  don't  hear.  For  my  mas- 
ter says  that  you  shall  all  of  you  live  pleasantly,  freed 
from  your  dreary  and  unpleasant  mode  of  life. 


358  ARISTOPHANKS 

Cho.  But  what,  pray,  and  whence,  is  this  thing-  which 
he  speaks  of? 

Ca.  He  has  come  hither  with  a  certain  old  man,  ye 
wretches,  who  is  filthy,  crooked,  miserable,  wrinkled, 
bald,  and  toothless  ;  and,  by  Heaven  !  I  think  he  is  cir- 
cumcised, too. 

Cho.  O  you  who  have  announced  golden  tidings,  how 
say  you  ?  tell  me  again  !  For  you  plainly  show  that  he  is 
come  with  a  heap  of  money. 

Ca.  Nay,  rather,  with  a  heap  of  the  ills  of  age. 

Cho.  Do  you  expect,  after  humbugging  us,  to  get  off 
unpunished,  and  that,  too,  when  I  have  a  staff? 

Ca.  Why,  do  you  consider  me  to  be  altogether  such 
a  man  by  nature  in  all  respects,  and  do  you  think  that  I 
would  say  nothing  true  ? 

Cho.  How  haughty  the  rascal  is !  Your  legs  are  cry- 
ing out,  "  Oh  !  oh  !  "  longing  for  the  stocks  and  fetters. 

Ca.  But  are  you  not  for  going,  when  now  your  letter 
has  assigned  you  to  administer  justice  in  the  tomb,  and 
Charon  gives  you  your  ticket? 

Cho.  Split  you !  What  an  impudent  fellow  'you  are, 
and  arrant  knave  by  nature,  who  humbug  us,  and  have 
not  yet  had  the  patience  to  tell  us  on  what  account  your 
master  has  called  us  hither,  who,  after  labouring  much, 
have  come  hither  readily,  though  we  had  no  leisure,  pass- 
ing over  many  roots  of  thyme  ! 

Ca.  Well,  then,  I  will  not  conceal  it  any  longer;  for, 
sirs,  my  master  has  come  with  Plutus,  who  will  make  you 
rich. 

Cho.  Why,  is  it  really  possible  for  us  all  to  be  rich  ? 

Ca.  Nay,  rather,  by  the  gods,  all  Midases,  if  you  get 
ass's  ears. 

Cho.  How  I  am  delighted  and  gladdened,  and  wish  to 
(Jance  for  joy,  if  you  are  really  speaking  this  truly  ! 

Ca.  Well,  now,  I  should  like  to  lead  you,  imitating  the 
Cyclops,  threttanelo!  and  moving  thus  to  and  fro  with 
my  feet.  But  come,  my  children,  crying  out  frequently, 


PLUTUS  359 

and  bleating  the  strains  of  sheep  and  stinking  goats,  follow 
me  lewdly,  and  you  shall  breakfast  like  goats. 

Clio.  And  we,  on  the  other  hand,  bleating,  when  we 
have  caught  you,  this  Cyclops,  threttanelo !  dirty,  with  a 
wallet  and  dewy,  wild  potherbs,  having  a  drunken  head- 
ache, leading  your  sheep,  and  carelessly  asleep  some- 
where, will  take  a  great  lighted,  sharp  stake  and  try  to 
blind  you. 

Ca.  And  I  will  imitate  in  all  her  ways  Circe,  who 
mixed  up  the  drugs,  who  once  in  Corinth  persuaded  the 
companions  of  Philonides,  as  if  they  were  boars,  to  eat 
kneaded  dung;  while  she  herself  kneaded  it  for  them. 
But  do  you,  grunting  for  delight,  follow,  like  swine,  your 
mother. 

Cho.  Therefore  we,  having  caught  you,  the  Circe,  who 
mixed  up  the  drugs  and  bewitched  and  denied  our  com- 
panions, imitating  for  delight  the  son  of  Laertes,  will 
hang  you  up  and  besmear  your  nostrils  with  dung,  like 
a  goat's;  while  you,  gaping  like  Aristyllus,  shall  say, 
"  Follow,  like  swine,  your  mother." 

Ca.  But  come  now,  do  you  now  have  done  with  your 
jests  and  turn  yourselves  into  another  shape ;  while  I 
should  like  now  to  go  unknown  to  my  master  and  take 
some  bread  and  meat  and  eat  it,  and  so  afterward  to  join 
in  the  work.  \Exit  CARIO. 

Chrcmylus  (entering  and  addressing  the  CHORUS).  To  bid 
you  "  hail,"  my  fellow-tribesmen,  is  now  old-fashioned  and 
obsolete  ;  so  I  "  embrace  you,"  because  you  have  come 
readily  and  eagerly,  and  not  tardily.  But  see  that  you  be 
my  coadjutors  in  the  rest  as  well,  and  truly  preservers  of 
the  god. 

Clio.  Be  of  good  courage!  for  you  shall  think  I  look 
downright  martial.  For  it  would  be  absurd  if  we  con- 
stantly jostle  one  another  in  the  Assembly  for  the  sake  of 
three  obols,  while  I  were  to  yield  up  Plutus  himself  to  any 
one  to  take  away. 

Chr.  Well,  now,  I  see  also  Blepsidemus  here  approach- 


•560  AKISTOl'HANKS 

ing :  and  'tis  plain  from  his  gait  and  haste  that   he    has 
heard  something  of  the  affair. 

Enter  BLEPSIDKMUS 

Blcpsidennts  (talking  to  himself}.  What  then  can  the 
affair  be  ?  in  what  way  has  Chremylus  suddenly  become 
rich?  I  don't  believe  it:  and  yet,  by  Hercules,  there  was 
much  talk  among  those  who  sat  in  the  barbers'  shops,  that 
the  man  has  suddenly  become  wealthy.  But  this  very 
thing  is  marvellous  to  me,  that  he,  being  well  off,  sends  for 
his  friends.  In  truth  he  does  not  do  a  thing  fashionable  in 
the  country. 

Chr.  (aside].  Well  then,  by  the  gods,  I'll  tell  him,  with- 
out concealing  anything.  O  Blepsidemus,  we  are  better 
off  than  yesterday,  so  that  it  is  permitted  you  to  share  ;  for 
you  are  of  the  number  of  my  friends. 

/>'/.  But  have  you  really  become  rich,  as  people 
say? 

Chr.  Nay,  but  I  shall  be  very  soon,  if  God  please ;  for 
there  is — there  is  some  hazard  in  the  affair. 

/>'/.  Of  what  sort? 

Chr.  Such  as 

/>'/.  Tell  me  quickly  what  in  the  world  you  mean. 

C/ir.  — that,  if  we  succeed,  we  shall  be  always  well  off; 
but  if  we  be  foiled,  we  shall  be  utterly  undone. 

HI.  This  load  looks  bad,  and  does  not  please  me.  For 
your  suddenly  becoming  so  excessively  rich,  and,  again, 
your  fearing,  is  in  character  with  a  man  who  has  done 
nothing  good. 

Chr.    I  low  nothing  good? 

HI.  If,  by  Jove!  you  have  come  from  thence,  having 
stolen  any  silver  or  gold  from  the  god,  and  then,  perhaps, 
repent. 

Chr.  O  Apollo,  averter  of  evil!  not  I,  by  Jove! 

III.  Cease  talking  nonsense,  my  good  sir;  for  I  know 
it  for  certain. 

Chr.  Do  you  suspect  nothing  of  the  kind  of  me. 


PLUTUS  361 

Bl.  Alas !  how  there  is  absolutely  no  good  in  any  one ! 
but  all  are  slaves  of  gain. 

Chr.  By  Ceres !  you  certainly  do  not  appear  to  me  to 
be  in  your  right  senses. 

BL  (aside).  How  much  he  has  altered  from  the  charac- 
ter he  formerly  had  ! 

Chr.  By  Heaven,  fellow,  you  are  mad  ! 

Bl.  (aside).  But  not  even  does  his  glance  itself  keep  in 
its  place,  but  is  like  to  one  who  has  committed  some  vil- 
lainy. 

Chr.  I  know  what  you  are  croaking  about :  you  seek  to 
get  a  share,  as  if  I  had  stolen  something. 

Bl.  I  seek  to  get  a  share  ?  of  what  ? 

Chr.  Whereas  it  is  not  of  such  nature,  but  different. 

BL  Have  you  not  stolen,  but  snatched  it  away  ? 

Chr.  You  are  possessed. 

BL  But  have  you,  in  truth,  not  even  defrauded  any  one  ? 

Chr.  Not  I,  indeed  ! 

BL  O  Hercules,  come,  whither  can  one  turn  himself  ? 
for  you  will  not  tell  the  truth. 

Chr.  For  you  accuse  me  before  you  know  my  case. 

Bl.  My  good  friend,  I  will  settle  this  for  you  at  a  very 
trifling  expense,  before  the  city  hear  of  it,  by  stopping  the 
orators'  mouths  with  small  coin. 

Chr.  And  verily,  by  the  gods,  methinks  you  would  in 
a  friendly  way  lay  out  three  minas  and  set  down  twelve. 

Bl.  I  see  a  certain  person  who  will  sit  at  the  Bema, 
holding  the  suppliant's  bough,  with  his  children  and  his 
wife  ;  and  who  will  not  differ  at  all,  not  even  in  any  way, 
from  the  Heraclidae  of  Pamphilus. 

Chr.  Not  so,  you  wretch,  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  will 
cause  the  good  alone,  and  the  clever  and  discreet,  to  be- 
come rich. 

BL  What  do  you  say  ?  have  you  stolen  so  very  much  ? 

Chr.  Ah  me,  what  miseries !  you  will  destroy  me. 

BL  Nay,  rather,  you  will  destroy  yourself,  as  it  seems 

to  me. 

13 


362  ARISTOl'HANKS 

Chr.  Certainly  not ;  for  I  have  got  Plutus,  you  sorry 
wretch. 

/.'/.   You,  Plutus?  what  Plutus? 

Chr.  The  god  himself. 

HI.   Why,  where  is  he? 

Chr.  Within. 

/>'/.   Where? 

Chr.  At  my  house. 

7>7.  At  your  house? 

Chr.  Certainly. 

/>'/.  Go  to  the  devil !  Plutus  at  your  house? 

Chr.  Yes,  by  the  gods  ! 

BL  Are  you  speaking  truth? 

Chr.  Yes. 

Bl.  By  Vesta  ? 

Chr.  Yea,  by  Neptune ! 

7>7.  Do  you  mean  the  sea  Neptune? 

Chr.  Ay,  and  t'other  Neptune,  if  there  be  any  other. 

Bl.  Then  are  you  not  for  sending  him  round  to  us  also 
your  friends? 

Chr.  The  affair  is  not  yet  come  to  this  point. 

/>'/.  What  do  you  say  ?  not  to  the  sharing  point — eh  ? 

Chr.  No,  by  Jupiter!  for  we  must  first — 

Bl.  What?' 

Chr.  Cause  him  to  see. 

Bl.  Whom  to  see  ?  tell  me. 

Chr.  Plutus,  as  before,  in  some  way  or  other. 

///.  Why,  is  he  really  blind  ? 

Chr.  Yes,  by  Heaven  ! 

/>'/.   No  wonder,  then,  he  never  at  any  time  came  to  me. 

Chr.  But,  if  the  gods  please,  he  shall  come  now. 

Bl.  Ought  von  not  then  to  call  in  some  physician? 

Chr.  What  physician  then  is  there  now  in  the  city? 
For  neither  is  the  fee  of  any  value,  nor  the  profession. 

///.   Let  u^  see. 

Chr.    Pint  there  is  none. 

/;/.    Neither  do  1  think  so. 


PLUTUS  363 

Chr.  No,  by  Jupiter !  but  'tis  best  to  lay  him  on  a 
couch  in  the  Temple  of  yEsculapius,  as  1  was  intending 
this  long  while. 

Bl.  Nay,  rather,  far  the  best,  by  the  gods.  Do  not 
then  delay,  but  make  haste  and  do  something  or  other. 

Chr.  Well  now,  I  am  going. 

Bl.  Hasten  then. 

Chr.  I  am  doing  this  very  thing. 

Enter  POVERTY 

Poverty.  O  you  pitiful  manikins,  who  dare  to  do  a 
hasty  and  unholy  and  unlawful  deed  !  whither?  whither? 
why  do  you  fly?  will  you  not  remain? 

Bl.  O  Hercules ! 

Pov.  I  will  destroy  you,  you  wretches,  in  a  wretched 
way ;  for  you  are  venturing  on  a  daring  act  not  to  be 
borne,  but  such  as  no  other  person  even  at  any  time, 
either  god  or  man,  has  ventured  on;  therefore  you  are 
undone. 

Chr.  But  who  are  you  ?  for  you  appear  to  me  to  be 
ghastly  pale. 

Bl.  Perhaps  'tis  some  Fury  from  tragedy :  at  least  she 
certainly  looks  very  mad  and  tragic. 

Chr.  But  she  has  no  torches. 

BL  Then  she  shall  suffer  for  it. 

Pov.  Whom  do  you  think  me  to  be  ? 

Chr.  Some  hostess  or  pulse-porridge-seller  :  for  other- 
wise you  would  not  have  cried  out  so  loud  against  us, 
having  been  wronged  in  no  way. 

Pov.  What,  really  ?  for  have  you  not  acted  most 
shamefully  in  seeking  to  banish  me  from  every  place  ? 

Chr.  Is  not  then  the  Barathrum  left  you  ?  But  you 
ought  to  tell  me  immediately  who  you  are. 

Pov.  One  who  will  make  you  to-day  give  satisfaction, 
because  you  seek  to  expel  me  from  hence. 

Bl.  Is  it  the  tavern-keeper  of  our  neighbourhood,  who 
is  always  cheating  me  grossly  with  her  half-pints? 


364  ARlSToi'IIANI.S 

/}>:•.  Nay,  but  I  am  Poverty,  who  have  been  dwelling 
with  you  many  years. 

/>'/.  (running  aiM}1).  O  King  Apollo,  and  ye  gods! 
Whither  must  one  fly  ? 

Chr.  Halloo  !  what  are  you  about?  O  you  most  cow- 
ardly beast,  will  you  not  stay  ? 

BL  By  no  means. 

Chr.  Will  you  not  stay  ?  What !  shall  we  two  men 
fly  from  one  woman  ? 

Bl.  Yes,  for  'tis  Poverty,  you  wretch,  than  whom  there 
is  no  living  being  anywhere  more  ruinous. 

Chr.  Stand,  I  beseech  you,  stand  ! 

BL  No,  by  Jove,  not  I ! 

Chr.  Well,  now,  I  tell  you,  we  shall  do  a  deed  by  far 
the  most  shameful  of  all  deeds,  if  we  shall  leave  the  god 
unprotected  and  fly  any  whither,  through  fear  of  her,  and 
not  fight  it  out. 

Bl.  Relying  on  what  sort  of  arms  or  strength  ?  For 
what  sort  of  breastplate  and  what  sort  of  shield  does  not 
the  most  abominable  wretch  put  in  pawn  ? 

Chr.  Be  of  good  courage  ;  for  this  god  alone,  I  well 
know,  can  set  up  a  trophy  over  her  ways. 

Pov.  And  do  you  also  dare  to  mutter,  you  scoundrels, 
when  you  have  been  detected  in  the  very  act  of  doing 
shameful  things? 

Chr.  But  why  do  you,  the  devil  take  you,  come  against 
us  and  revile  us,  being  wronged  not  even  in  any  way  ? 

Pov.  For  do  you  think,  oh,  by  the  gods !  that  you 
wrong  me  in  no  way  in  endeavouring  to  make  Plutus  see 
again  ? 

Chr.  What  wrong  then  .do  we  do  you  in  this,  if  we 
contrive  good  for  all  men? 

But  what  good  could  you  devise? 

Cho.  What  ?  by  banishing  you  from  Greece,  in  the 
first  place. 

.   By  banishing  me?  and  what  greater  evil  do  you 
suppose  you  could  do  t 


H.UTUS  365 

Chr.  What,  if  we  were  to  delay  to  do  this  and  for- 
get it? 

Pov.  Well,  now,  1  wish  first  to  render  you  an  account 
of  this  very  matter.  And  if  I  prove  that  I  am  the  sole 
cause  of  all  blessings  to  you,  and  that  you  live  through 
me,  it  is  well ;  but  if  not,  now  do  this,  whatever  seems 
good  to  you. 

Ckr.  Do  you  dare  to  say  this,  O  most  abominable  ? 

Pov.  Ay,  and  do  you  suffer  yourself  to  be  taught. 
For  I  think  I  shall  very  easily  prove  that  you  are  alto- 
gether in  the  wrong,  if  you  say  you  will  make  the  just 
wealthy. 

C/ir.  O  cudgels  and  pillories,  will  you  not  aid  me  ? 

Pov.  You  ought  not  to  complain  angrily  and  cry  out 
before  you  know. 

Bl.  Why,  who  would  be  able  not  to  cry  out  "  Oh ! 
oh  !  "  at  hearing  such  things  ? 

Pov.  He  who  is  in  his  right  senses. 

Chr.  What  penalty,  then,  shall  I  set  down  in  the  title 
of  the  suit  for  you,  if  you  be  cast? 

Pov.  Whatever  seems  good  to  you. 

Ckr.  You  say  well. 

Pov.  For  you  also  must  suffer  the  same  if  you  lose 
your  cause. 

Bl.  Do  you  think  then  twenty  deaths  sufficient  ? 

Chr.  Yes,  for  her ;  but  two  only  will  suffice  for  us. 

Pov.  You  can  not  be  too  quick  in  doing  this  :  for  what 
just  plea  could  any  one  any  longer  bring  against  me  ? 

C/io.  Well,  you  ought  now  to  say  something  clever,  by 
which  you  shall  conquer  her,  opposing  her  in  argument, 
and  not  effeminately  give  in. 

Chr.  I  think  that  this  is  plain  for  all  alike  to  under- 
stand, that  it  is  just  that  the  good  men  should  be  pros- 
perous, but  the  wicked  and  the  ungodly,  I  ween,  the  con- 
trary of  this.  We  therefore  desiring  that  this  should  take 
place,  have  with  difficulty  found  out  a  plan,  excellent,  and 
noble,  and  useful  for  every  enterprise.  For  if  Plutus  now 


366  ARISTOPHANKS 

should  have  the  use  of  his  eyes,  and  not  go  about  blind, 
he  will  go  to  the  good  men,  and  not  leave  them,  but  will 
fly  from  the  wicked  and  the  ungodly ;  and  then  he  will 
make  all  to  be  good  and  rich,  I  ween,  and  to  reverence 
things  divine.  And  yet,  who  could  ever  devise  a  better 
thing  than  this  for  men  ? 

BL  No  one ;  I  am  your  witness  in  this ;  don't  ask  her. 

Chr.  For  as  life  is  at  present  circumstanced  for  us  men, 
who  would  not  think  it  to  be  madness,  or  rather  still  a 
demoniacal  possession  ?  For  many  men  who  are  wicked 
are  rich,  having  accumulated  them  unjustly  ;  while  many 
who  are  very  good,  are  badly  off,  and  suffer  hunger,  and 
live  with  you  [to  POVERTY]  for  the  most  part.  I  say, 
then,  that  there  is  a  way,  proceeding  upon  which  a  per- 
son might  procure  greater  benefits  for  men,  namely,  if 
Plutus  were  ever  to  have  the  use  of  his  eyes  and  put  a 
stop  to  her. 

Pov.  Nay,  O  you  two  old  dotards,  partners  in  non- 
sense and  folly,  of  all  men  the  most  easily  persuaded  not 
to  be  in  your  right  senses,  if  this  were  to  happen,  which 
you  desire,  I  deny  that  it  would  profit  you.  For  if  Plutus 
were  to  have  the  use  of  his  eyes  again  and  portion  himself 
out  equally,  no  man  would  practise  either  art  or  science ; 
and  when  both  these  have  disappeared  through  you,  who 
will  be  willing  to  be  a  smith,  or  to  build  ships,  or  to  sew, 
or  to  make  wheels,  or  to  make  shoes,  or  to  make  bricks, 
or  to  wash,  or  to  tan  hides,  or  who  will  be  willing  to  break 
up  the  soil  of  the  earth  with  ploughings  and  reap  the  fruits 
of  Ceres,  if  it  be  possible  for  you  to  live  in  idleness, 
neglecting  all  these  ? 

Chr.  You  talk  nonsense ;  for  our  servants  shall  toil  at 
all  these  things  for  us,  as  many  as  you  have  now  enumer- 
ated. 

Pov.  Whence  then  will  you  have  servants? 

Chr.  We  will  buy  them  for  money,  to  be  sure. 

/<>«'.  But  first,  who  will  be  the  seller,  when  he  too  has 
money  ? 


PLUTUS  367 

Chr.  Some  one  wishing  to  make  gain,  having  come  as 
a  merchant  from  Thessaly,  from  among  very  many  kid- 
nappers. 

Pov.  But  first  of  all,  there  will  not  even  be  any  one, 
not  even  a  kidnapper,  according  to  the  statement,  I  ween, 
which  you  mention.  For  who  that  is  wealthy  will  be 
willing  to  do  this  at  the  hazard  of  his  own  life  ?  So  that, 
having  been  compelled  to  plough,  and  dig,  and  toil  at  the 
other  labours  yourself,  you  will  spend  a  much  more  pain- 
ful life  than  the  present  one. 

Chr.  May  it  fall  on  your  own  head  ! 

Pov.  Moreover,  you  will  not  be  able  to  sleep  either  in 
a  bed — for  there  will  be  none — or  in  carpets  ;  for  who  will 
be  willing  to  weave  them  when  he  has  gold  ?  Nor,  when 
you  lead  home  a  bride,  to  anoint  her  with  dropping 
unguents;  nor  to  adorn  her  with  sumptuous  garments, 
dyed,  and  variegated.  And  yet,  what  advantage  will  it 
be  to  you  to  be  rich,  when  in  want  of  all  these?  But 
from  me  all  these  which  you  stand  in  need  of  are  easily 
obtained  ;  for  I  sit,  compelling  the  artisan,  like  a  mistress, 
through  his  want  and  his  poverty,  to  seek  whence  he  shall 
have  subsistence. 

Chr.  Why,  what  good  could  you  procure,  except  a 
swarm  of  blisters  from  the  bath,  and  of  children  begin- 
ning to  be  hungry,  and  of  old  women  ?  and  the  quantity 
of  lice,  and  gnats,  and  fleas,  I  don't  even  mention  to  you, 
by  reason  of  their  multitude,  which  buzz  about  my  head 
and  torment  me,  wakening  me  and  saying :  "  You  will 
suffer  hunger ;  come,  get  up."  Moreover,  to  have  a  rag 
instead  of  a  garment ;  and  instead  of  a  bed,  a  mattress  of 
rushes,  full  of  bugs,  which  wakens  the  sleepers  ;  and  to 
have  a  rotten  mat  instead  of  a  carpet ;  and  a  good-sized 
stone  against  one's  head  instead  of  a  pillow  ;  and  to  eat 
shoots  of  mallow  instead  of  bread  ;  and  leaves  of  withered 
radish  instead  of  barley-cake  ;  and  to  have  the  head  of  a 
broken  jar  instead  of  a  bench  ;  and  the  side  of  a  cask, 
and  that  too  broken,  instead  of  a  kneading-trough.  Do 


368  ARISTOl'HANES 

I  not  demonstrate  you  to  be  the  cause  of  many  blessings 
to  all  men? 

Pov.  You  have  not  mentioned  my  way  of  life,  but  have 
attacked  that  of  beggars. 

Chr.  Therefore  we  say,  I  ween,  that  poverty  is  sister 
of  beggary. 

Pov.  Ay,  you  who  also  say  that  Dionysus  is  like 
Thrasybulus.  But  my  mode  of  life  is  not  thus  circum- 
stanced, no,  by  Jove !  nor  will  it.  For  a  beggar's  mode 
of  life,  which  you  describe,  is  to  live  possessed  of  nothing; 
but  that  of  a  poor  man  to  live  sparingly,  and  attentive  to 
his  work ;  and  not  to  have  any  superfluity,  nor  yet,  how- 
ever, to  have  a  deficiency. 

Chr.  O  Ceres !  how  blessed  is  his  life  which  you  have 
set  forth,  if  after  sparing  and  toiling  he  shall  leave  behind 
him  not  even  wherewith  to  be  buried. 

Pov.  You  are  trying  to  scoff  at  and  ridicule  me,  heed- 
less of  being  earnest,  not  knojving  that  I  render  men  bet- 
ter both  in  mind  and  body  than  Plutus  does.  For  with 
him  they  are  gouty  in  their  feet,  and  pot-bellied,  and 
thick-legged,  and  extravagantly  fat ;  but  with  me  they 
are  thin  and  slender,  and  grievous  to  their  foes. 

'Chr.  For,  no  doubt,  you  bring  about  the  slenderness 
for  them  by  hunger. 

Pov.  Now  therefore  I  will  discourse  to  you  respecting 
sobriety,  and  will  demonstrate  that  orderly  behaviour 
dwells  Avith  me,  but  that  riotousness  belongs  to  Plutus. 

Chr.  In  sooth  it  is  very  orderly  to  steal  and  to  dig 
through  walls. 

/•'/.  Yes,  by  Jove !  how  is  it  not  orderly,  if  he  must 
escape  notice? 

/(><-'.  Consider  therefore  the  orators  in  the  states,  how, 
when  they  are  poor,  they  are  just  toward  the  people  and 
the  state ;  but  when  they  have  become  rich  out  of  the 
public  purse,  they  immediately  become  unjust,  and  plot 
against  the  commons,  and  make  war  upon  the  democracy. 

i'/ir.  Well,  you   don't  speak    falsely   in    any   of   these 


PLUTUS  369 

things,  although  you  are  exceedingly  slanderous.  But 
you  shall  suffer  none  the  less — don't  pride  yourself  on 
this — because  you  seek  to  convince  us  of  this,  that  poverty 
is  better  than  riches. 

Pov.  And  you  too  are  not  yet  able  to  refute  me  about 
this,  but  talk  nonsense  and  flap  your  wings. 

Chr.  Why,  how  is  it  that  all  shun  you? 

Pov.  Because  I  make  them  better.  But  you  may  see 
it  best  in  children ;  for  they  shun  their  fathers  who  are 
very  well-disposed  toward  them.  So  difficult  a  matter  is 
it  to  distinguish  what  is  right. 

Chr.  You  will  say,  then,  that  Jupiter  does  not  correctly 
distinguish  what  is  best ;  for  he  too  has  wealth. 

Bl.  And  despatches  her  to  us. 

Pov.  Nay,  O  you  who  are  both  of  you  purblind  in  your 
minds  with  old-fashioned  prejudices,  Jupiter  is  certainly 
poor;  and  I  will  now  teach  you  this  clearly.  For  if  he 
was  rich,  how  would  he,  when  celebrating  the  Olympic 
games  himself,  where  he  assembles  all  the  Greeks  every 
fifth  year,  have  proclaimed  as  conquerors  the  victorious 
athletes,  having  crowned  them  with  a  chaplet  of  wild 
olive?  And  yet  he  ought  rather  to  crown  them  with 
gold,  if  he  was  rich  ? 

Chr.  By  this  therefore  he  certainly  shows  that  he 
honours  riches.  For  through  parsimony  and  a  wish  to 
spend  none  of  it,  he  crowns  the  victors  with  trifles  and 
lets  his  wealth  remain  by  him. 

Pov.  You  seek  to  fix  upon  him  a  much  more  disgrace- 
ful thing  than  poverty,  if  he,  though  rich,  be  so  stingy  and 
avaricious. 

Chr.  Well,  may  Jupiter  utterly  destroy  you,  having 
crowned  you  with  a  chaplet  of  wild  olive ! 

Pov.  To  think  of  your  daring  to  contradict  me,  that  all 
your  blessings  are  not  through  poverty  ! 

Chr.  One  may  learn  this  from  Hecate,  whether  to  be 
rich  or  to  suffer  hunger  is  better.  For  she  says  that  those 
who  have  property  and  are  wealthy  send  a  dinner  every 


370  ARISTOPHANES 

month,  while  the  poor  people  snatch  it  away  before  one 
has  set  it  down.  But  go  and  be  hanged,  and  don't  mutter 
anything  more  whatever.  For  you  shall  not  convince  me, 
even  if  you  should  convince  me. 

Pov.  "  O  city  of  Argos,  you  hear  what  he  says !  " 

C/ir.  Call  Pauson,  your  messmate. 

Pov.  What  shall  I  do,  unhappy  woman  ? 

Chr.  Go  to  the  devil  quickly  from  us ! 

Pov.  But  whither  on  earth  shall  I  go  ? 

Chr.  To  the  pillory  ;  you  ought  not  to  delay,  but  to 
make  haste. 

Pov.  Assuredly  you  will  have  to  send  for  me  hither 
some  time. 

Chr.  Then  you  shall  return ;  but  now  go  and  be  hanged  ! 
For  it  is  better  for  me  to  be  rich,  and  to  leave  you  to  wail 
loudly  in  your  head.  [Exit  POVERTY. 

Bl.  By  Jove!  then  I  wish,  when  I  am  rich,  to  feast 
along  with  my  children  and  my  wife ;  and  going  sleek 
from  the  bath,  after  I  have  bathed,  to  hoot  at  the  artisans 
and  Poverty. 

Chr.  This  cursed  wretch  is  gone.  But  let  you  and  me 
convey  the  god  as  soon  as  possible  to  the  Temple  of  -xEs- 
culapius  to  put  him  to  bed  in  it. 

Bl.  And  let  us  not  delay,  lest  again  some  one  come  and 
hinder  us  from  doing  something  useful. 

Chr.  Boy  Cario,  you  must  bring  out  the  bedclothes, 
and  convey  Plutus  himself,  as  is  customary,  and  the  other 
things,  as  many  as  are  ready  prepared  in  the  house. 

[Exeunt  CIIRKMVLUS  and  Bi.EPSIDEMUS. 

Cario  (returning front  the  temple}.  O  you  old  men,  who 
very  often  at  the  festival  of  Theseus  had  sopped  up  soup 
to  very  little  bread,  how  prosperous  you  are,  how  happily 
you  are  circumstanced,  and  the  rest  of  you,  as  many  as 
have  any  claim  to  a  good  character ! 

Cho.  But  what  news  is  there,  O  good  sir,  about  your 
friends?  for  you  appear  to  have  come  as  a  messenger  of 
some  good  news. 


PLUTUS  371 

Ca.  My  master  is  most  prosperously  circumstanced— 
or  rather  Plutus  himself;  for  instead  of  being  blind,  he 
has  been  restored  to  sight,  and  has  been  made  clear- 
sighted in  the  pupils  of  his  eyes,  having  found  ^sculapius 
a  friendly  physician. 

Cho.  You  tell  me  a  matter  for  joy,  you  tell  me  a  matter 
for  shouting. 

Ca.  Tis  your  lot  to  rejoice,  whether  you  wish  it  or  no. 

Cho.  I  will  loudly  praise  ^Esculapius  blessed  in  his  chil- 
dren, and  a  great  light  to  mortals. 

Enter    WIFE   OF   CHREMYLUS 

Wife.  What  in  the  world  means  the  shout  ?  Is  some 
good  news  announced  ?  for,  longing  for  this,  I  have 
been  sitting  in  the  house  this  long  while,  waiting  for  this 
fellow. 

Ca.  Quickly,  quickly,  bring  wine,  mistress,  in  order 
that  you  yourself  also  may  drink — and  you  are  very  fond 
of  doing  it — for  I  bring  you  all  blessings  in  a  lump. 

Wife.  Why,  where  are  they  ? 

Ca.  You  will  soon  learn  by  what  is  said. 

Wife.  Be  quick  and  finish  then  some  time  or  other 
what  you  are  for  saying. 

Ca.  Hear,  then  ;  for  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  affair  from 
the  foot  to  the  head. 

Wife.  Nay,  not  on  my  head,  pray. 

Ca.  Not  the  blessings  which  have  now  taken  place? 

Wife.  Nay,  rather,  not  the  troubles. 

Ca.  As  soon  as  we  came  to  the  god,  conveying  a  man, 
at  that  time  most  miserable,  but  now  blessed  and  fortu- 
nate, if  there  ever  was  one,  we  first  conveyed  him  to  the 
sea,  and  then  washed  him. 

Wife.  By  Jupiter,  then  he  was  fortunate,  an  old  man 
washed  in  the  cold  sea! 

Ca.  Then  we  went  to  the  temple  of  the  god.  And 
when  our  wafers  and  preparatory  sacrifices  were  offered 
on  the  altar,  and  our  cake  in  the  flame  of  Vulcan,  we  laid 


372 


ARISTOPHANES 


Plutus  on  a  couch,  as  was  proper,  while  each  of  us  began 
putting  his  mattress  in  order. 

Wife.  And  were  there  any  others  also  in  need  of  the 
god? 

Ca.  Yes,  there  was  one  Neoclides,  who  is  indeed 
blind,  but  outdoes  in  stealing  those  who  see:  and  many 
others  having  all  sorts  of  diseases.  But  when  the  sacrist 
of  the  god  put  out  the  lamps  and  ordered  us  to  sleep,  tell- 
ing us  if  any  one  should  hear  a  noise,  he  must  be  silent, 
we  all  lay  down  in  an  orderly  manner.  And  I  could  not 
sleep;  but  a  pot  of  porridge  which  was  lying  a  little  way 
off  from  the  head  of  an  old  woman  strongly  affected  me, 
toward  which  I  desired  exceedingly  to  creep.  Then  on 
looking  up  I  saw  the  priest  snatching  away  the  cakes  and 
dried  figs  from  the  sacred  table.  And  after  this  he  went 
round  to  all  the  altars  round  about,  if  anywhere  a  cake 
might  be  left ;  and  then  he  consecrated  these — into  a  sack. 
And  I,  supposing  there  was  great  piety  in  the  thing,  got 
up  toward  the  pot  of  porridge. 

Wife.  O  most  daring  of  men,  were  you  not  afraid  of 
the  god? 

Ca.  Yes,  by  the  gods,  lest  he  might  get  to  the  pot 
before  me,  with  his  garlands  on ;  for  his  priest  taught  me 
that  beforehand.  But  the  old  woman,  when  she  heard  my 
noise,  stretched  forth  her  hand;  and  then  I  hissed  and 
seized  it  with  my  teeth,  as  if  I  were  an  JEsculapian 
snake.  But  she  immediately  drew  back  her  hand  again, 
and  lay  down,  having  wrapped  herself  up  quietly,  trem- 
bling with  fear.  And  then  I  swallowed  greedily  the 
greater  part  of  the  porridge :  and  then,  when  I  was  full, 
I  rested. 

Wife.  But  did  not  the  god  come  to  you? 

Ca.  Not  yet. 

Wife.  Doubtless  he  was  immediately  disgusted  at  you 
on  account  of  this. 

After   this    1    immediately  covered    mvself    up   for 
fear;   while   he  went,   round   in  a  circuit    inspecting  all  the 


PLUTUS  373 

maladies  very  regularly.  Then  a  servant  set  before  him 
a  small  stone  mortar  and  a  pestle  and  a  small  chest. 

Wife.  Of  stone? 

Ca.  No,  by  Jove,  certainly  not,  not  the  little  chest. 

Wife.  But  how  did  you  see,  the  devil  take  you !  who 
say  you  were  wrapped  up  ? 

Ca.  Through  my  little  threadbare  cloak ;  for,  by  Jupi- 
ter !  it  has  no  few  holes.  First  of  all  he  began  to  pound  up 
a  plaster  for  Neoclides,  having  thrown  in  three  heads  of 
Tenian  garlic.  Then  he  beat  them  up  in  the  mortar, 
mixing  along  with  them  gum  and  squill ;  and  then  he 
moistened  it  with  Sphettian  vinegar,  and  spread  it  over, 
having  turned  his  eyelids  inside  out,  that  he  might  be 
pained  the  more.  And  he  crying  out  and  bawling, 
jumped  up  and  ran  away,  while  the  god  laughed  and 
said,  "  Sit  there  now,  plastered  over,  that  I  may  stop 
your  excusing  yourself  on  oath  from  the  Assembly." 

Wife.  How  very  patriotic  and  wise  the  god  is ! 

Ca.  After  this  he  sat  down  beside  Plutus ;  and  first  he 
handled  his  head,  and  then  he  took  a  clean  napkin  and 
wiped  his  eyelids  all  round :  and  Panacea  covered  his 
head  and  the  whole  of  his  face  with  a  purple  cloth.  Then 
the  god  whistled  ;  then  two  snakes  rushed  forth  from  the 
temple,  prodigious  in  size. 

Wife.  O  ye  friendly  gods! 

Ca.  And  these  two  gently  crept  under  the  purple  cloth 
and  began  to  lick  his  eyelids  all  round,  as  it  appeared  to 
me.  And  before  you  could  have  drunk  up  ten  half-pints 
of  wine,  mistress,  Plutus  was  standing  up,  having  the  use 
of  his  eyes :  and  I  clapped  my  hands  for  joy,  and  began  to 
wake  my  master.  But  the  god  immediately  took  himself 
out  of  sight,  and  the  snakes  took  themselves  into  the  tem- 
ple ;  while  those  who  were  lying  in  bed  near  him,  you 
can't  think  how  they  began  embracing  Plutus,  and  kept 
awake  the  whole  night,  until  day  dawned.  But  I  praised 
the  god  very  much,  because  he  had  quickly  caused  Plutus 
to  see,  while  he  made  Neoclides  more  blind  than  before. 


374  ARISTOPHANES 

Wife.  How  much  power  you  possess,  O  king  and  mas- 
ter!  But  [to  CARIO]  tell  me,  where  is  Plutus  ! 

Ca.  He  is  coming.  But  there  was  a  prodigious  crowd 
about  him.  For  all  those  who  were  formerly  just,  and 
had  a  scanty  subsistence,  were  embracing  him  and  shak- 
ing hands  with  him  for  joy  ;  but  as  many  as  were  rich, 
and  had  much  property,  not  having  acquired  their  sub- 
sistence justly,  were  contracting  their  brows,  and  at  the 
same  time  looking  angry.  But  the  others  were  follow- 
ing behind  with  garlands  on,  laughing  and  shouting  in 
triumph  ;  and  the  shoe  of  the  old  men  was  resounding 
with  their  steps  in  good  time.  But  come,  do  you  all 
together  with  one  accord  dance,  and  leap,  and  form  a 
chorus ;  for  no  one  will  announce  to  you  when  you  go 
in  that  there  is  no  meal  in  the  bag.  x 

Wife.  And  I,  by  Hecate,  wish  to  crown  you  for  your 
good  news  with  a  string  of  cracknels,  who  have  announced 
such  tidings. 

Ca.  Do  not  then  delay  any  longer,  for  the  men  are  now 
near  to  the  door. 

Wife.  Come,  then,  let  me  go  in  and  fetch  some  sweet- 
meats to  be  showered  as  it  were  over  his  newly  purchased 
eyes.  {Exit  Win:  OF  CHKKMYI 

Ca.  But  I  wish  to  go  to  meet  them.  {Exit  CAKIO. 

Enter  PLUTUS,  accompanied  by  CllkKMYi.US  and  a  great 

croivd  of  people 

Plutns.  And  first  I  salute  the  sun,  and  then  the  illus- 
trious soil  of  the  august  Pallas,  and  the  whole  land  of 
Cecrops,  which  received  me.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  mis- 
fortunes, because  I  associated  with  such  men  without  my 
knowing  it,  but  shunned  those  who  were  worthv  of  my 
society,  knowing  nothing,  oh,  unhappy  me  !  I  low  wrong- 
ly I  acted  both  in  that  case  and  in  this!  But  I  will  re- 
verse them  all  again,  and  henceforth  show  to  all  men 
that  I  unwillingly  ur:iye  myself  up  to  the  wicked. 

Chr.   (to    some    bystander].      do    to    the    devil!      How 


PLUTUS  375 

troublesome  a  thing  are  the  friends  who  appear  imme- 
diately, when  one  is  prosperous !  For  they  nudge  me 
with  their  elbows,  and  bruise  my  shins,  each  of  them  ex- 
hibiting some  good-will.  For  who  did  not  address  me? 
What  a  crowd  of  old  men  was  there  not  around  me  in 
the  market-place? 

Enter  WIFE  OF  CHREMYLUS 

Wife.  O  dearest  of  men!  Welcome,  both  you,  and 
you !  Come  now,  for  it  is  the  custom,  let  me  take  and 
pour  these  sweetmeats  over  you. 

Plu,  By  no  means ;  for  on  my  first  entry  into  the 
house,  and  when  I  have  recovered  my  eyesight,  it  is  in 
no  wise  becoming  to  carry  out  anything,  but  rather  to 
carry  in. 

Wife.  Then,  pray,  will  you  not  accept  my  sweetmeats  ? 

Phi.  Yes,  in  the  house,  by  the  fireside,  as  is  the  custom. 
Then  also  we  may  avoid  the  vulgarity  of  the  thing ;  for  it 
is  not  becoming  for  the  dramatic  poet  to  throw  dried  figs 
and  sweetmeats  to  the  spectators  and  then  'force  them  to 
laugh  at  this. 

Wife.  You  say  very  well ;  for  see !  there's  Dexinicus 
standing  up,  with  the  intention  of  snatching  at  the  dried 
figs  !  {Exeunt  PLUTUS,  CHREMYLUS,  WIFE,  and  attendants. 

Cario  (coming  out  of  the  house').  How  delightful  it  is, 
sirs,  to  fare  prosperously  !  especially  if  one  has  brought 
out  nothing  from  home.  For  a  heap  of  blessings  has 
rushed  into  our  house,  without  our  committing  any  in- 
justice. Under  these  circumstances  wealth  is  a  very  de- 
lightful thing.  Our  meal-chest  is  full  of  wheaten  flour, 
and  our  wine-jars  of  dark  wine  with  a  high  perfume. 
And  all  our  vessels  are  full  of  silver  and  gold,  so  that 
1  wonder.  And  our  oil-jar  is  full  of  oil ;  and  our  flasks 
are  full  of  unguents,  and  our  garret  of  dried  figs.  And 
every  vinegar-cruet,  and  platter,  and  pot  has  become  of 
brass ;  and  our  rotten,  fishy  chargers  you  may  see  of 
silver.  And  our  lantern  has  suddenly  become  of  ivory. 


376  AKISTOl'HANKS 

And  we  servants  play  at  even  and  odd  with  golden 
staters  ;  and  we  no  longer  wipe  ourselves  with  stones, 
but  always  with  garlic,  through  luxury.  And  at  pres- 
ent my  master  is  sacrificing  Avithin  a  pig,  and  a  goat, 
and  a  ram,  with  a  chaplet  on:  but  the  smoke  drove  me 
out ;  for  I  was  not  able  to  remain  within ;  for  it  stung  my 
eyelids. 

Enter  a  JUST  MAN  attended  by  his  servant 
Just  Man.  Follow  with  me,  my  little  boy,  that  we  may 
go  to  the  god. 

Enter  CHREMYLUS 

Chr.  Ha!  who  is  this  who  approaches? 

J.  M.  A  man,  formerly  wretched,  but  now  prosperous. 

Chr.  It  is  evident  that  you  are  one  of  the  good,  as  it 
appears. 

/.  M.  Most  certainly. 

Chr.  Then,  what  do  you  want? 

J.  M.  I  ha.ve  come  to  the  god  :  for  he  is  the  author  of 
great  blessings  to  me.  For  having  received  a  consider- 
able property  from  my  father,  I  used  to  assist  those  of 
my  friends  who  were  in  want,  thinking  it  to  be  useful 
for  life. 

Chr.  Doubtless  your  money  soon  failed  you. 

/.  M.  Just  so. 

Chr.  Therefore  after  this  you  were  wretched. 

J.  M.  Just  so.  And  I  thought  I  should  have  as  really 
firm  friends,  if  ever  I  might  want  them,  those  whom  I 
had  before  done  kindness  to  when  they  were  in  want: 
but  they  began  to  avoid  me,  and  pretended  not  to  see 
me  any  longer. 

Chr.  And  also  laughed  at  you,  I  well  know. 

J.  M.  Just  so.  For  the  dearth  which  was  in  my  ves- 
sels ruined  me. 

C/ir.    IJut  not  now. 

/.  .]/.  \\' here-fore  with  good  reason  I  have  come  hither 
to  the  L,r«'l,  to  oiler  up  inv  vows. 


I>T 

.  ,.1'Tl 

Chr.  But  what  has  Lne  tlireadbare  cloak  to  do  with  the 
god,  which  this  servant  is  carrying  in  your  retinue  ?  tell  me. 

/.  M.  This  also  I  am  coming  to  the  god  to  dedicate. 

Chr.  Were  you  initiated,  then,  in  the  Great. Mysteries 
in  it? 

J,  M.  No ;  but  I  shivered  in  it  for  thirteen  years. 

Chr.  But  your  shoes  ? 

J.  M.  These  also  have  weathered  the  storm  along 
with  me. 

Chr.  Then  were  you  bringing  these  also  to  dedicate 
them? 

/.  M.  Yes,  by  Jupiter ! 

Chr.  You  have  come  with  very  pretty  presents  for  the 

god. 

Enter  an  INFORMER  attended  by  Jus  witness 

Informer.  Ah  me,  unhappy !  How  I  am  undone,  mis- 
erable man,  and  thrice  unhappy,  and  four  times,  and  five 
times,  and  twelve  times,  and  ten  thousand  times !  alas ! 
alas !  with  so  powerful  a  fate  have  I  been  mingled. 

Chr.  O  Apollo,  averter  of  evil,  and  ye  friendly  gods ! 
what  in  the  world  is  the  misfortune  which  the  man  has 
suffered  ? 

Inf.  Why,  have  I  not  now  suffered  shocking  things, 
who  have  lost  everything  out  of  my  house  through  this 
god,  who  shall  be  blind  again,  unless  lawsuits  be  wanting? 

J.  M.  I  imagine  I  pretty  nearly  see  into  the  matter ; 
for  a  man  is  approaching  who  is  badly  off;  and  he  seems 
to  be  of  the  bad  stamp. 

Chr.  By  Jupiter,  then,  he  is  rightly  ruined ! 

Inf.  Where,  where  is  this  fellow  who  singly  promised 
he  would  immediately  make  us  all  rich,  if  he  were  to  re- 
cover his  sight  again  as  before  ?  On  the  contrary,  he  has 
ruined  some  much  more. 

Chr.  And  whom,  pray,  has  he  treated  thus? 

Inf.  Me  here. 

Chr.  Were  you  of  the  number  of  the  wicked  ones  and 
house-breakers  ? 


378  AT    b-oP 

Inf.  By  Jove  !  there  is  en  rasm  *  iio  good  in  any  of  you  ; 
and  it  must  be  that  you  have  my  money. 

Ca.  O  Ceres,  how  insolently  the  informer  has  come  in  ! 
It  is  evident  that  he  is  ravenously  hungry. 

Inf.  You  can  not  be  too  quick  in  going-  speedily  to 
the  market-place ;  for  you  must  there  be  racked  upon  the 
wheel  and  declare  your  villainies. 

Ca.  Then  you'll  suffer  for  it. 

J.  M.  By  Jupiter  the  Preserver!  this  god  is  of  great 
value  to  all  the  Greeks,  if  he  shall  utterly  destroy  the 
informers,  the  wretches,  in  a  wretched  way. 

Inf.  Ah  me,  miserable  !  Are  you  also  laughing  at  me, 
who  are  an  accomplice?  for  whence  have  you  got  this 
garment?  But  yesterday  I  saw  you  with  a  threadbare 
cloak  on. 

J.  M.  I  care  nothing  for  you  :  for  see  !  I  wear  this 
ring,  having  purchased  it  from  Eudemus  for  a  drachma. 

Chr.  But  it  is  not  possible  to  wear  one  against  an  in- 
former's bite. 

Inf.  Is  not  this  great  insolence  ?  You  mock  me,  but 
you  have  not  stated  what  you  are  doing  here.  For  you 
are  here  for  no  good. 

Chr.  Certainly  not,  by  Jove !  for  your  good  ;  be  well 
assured. 

/;//.  For,  by  Jove !  you  will  dine  at  my  cost. 

Chr.  For  the  sake  of  truth  may  you  burst,  together 
with  vour  witness,  filled  with  nothing. 

Inf.  Do  you  deny  it?  There  is  a  great  quantity  of 
slices  of  salt-fish  and  roast  meat  within,  you  most  abomi- 
nable fellows.  \Sniffs\  uhu,  uhu,  uhu,  uhu,  uhu,  uhu. 

Chr.  Do  you  smell  anything,  you  poor  wretch  ? 

J.  M.  The  cold,  perhaps ;  since  he  has  on  such  a 
threadbare  cloak. 

/;//.  Is  this  bearable  then,  O  Jupiter  and  ye  gods,  that 
these  should  commit  outrages  upon  me?  Ah  me!  how 
grieved  1  am  that,  good  and  patriotic  as  I  am,  I  fare  badly. 

Chr.   You  patriotic  and  good? 


PLUTUS  379 

/;//.  As  never  man  was. 

CJir.  Well,  now,  answer  me  when  asked 

Inf.  What? 

C/ir.  Are  you  a  husbandman  ? 

Inf.  Do  you  suppose  me  to  be  so  mad  ? 

Ckr.  Or  a  merchant? 

Inf.  Yes,  I  pretend  to  be,  upon  occasion. 

Chr.  Well,  then,  did  you  learn  any  trade  ? 

Inf.  No,  by  Jovre ! 

Ckr.  How  then,  or  whence,  did  you  live,  if  you  do 
nothing? 

/;//.  I  am  manager  of  all  the  affairs  of  the  state  and 
private  affairs. 

Chr.  You  ?     Wherefore  ? 

Inf.  I  please  to  do  so. 

Chr.  How  then,  you  house-breaker,  can  you  be  good, 
if,  when  it  in  no  wise  concerns  you,  you  are  then  hated  ? 

/;//.  Why,  does  it  not  concern  me,  you  booby,  to  bene- 
fit my  own  city  as  far  as  I  be  able  ? 

Chr.  Then  is  to  be  a  meddling  busybody  to  benefit  it? 

Inf.  Nay,  rather,  to  aid  the  established  laws,  and,  if 
any  one  do  wrong,  not  to  permit  it. 

Chr.  Does  not  the  state,  then,  purposely  appoint  judges 
to  preside? 

Inf.  But  who  is  the  accuser? 

Chr.  Any  one  who  pleases. 

Inf.  Then  I  am  he  ;  so  that  the  affairs  of  the  state  have 
devolved  on  me. 

Chr.  Then,  by  Jove  !  it  has  a  sorry  patron.  But  would 
you  not  prefer  that,  to  keep  quiet  and  live  idle  ? 

Inf.  Nay,  you  are  describing  the  life  of  a  sheep,  if  there 
shall  appear  no  amusement  in  life. 

Chr.  And  would  you  not  learn  better? 

Inf.  Not  even  if  you  were  to  give  me  Plutus  himself, 
and  the  silphium  of  Battus. 

Chr.  Quickly  lay  down  your  cloak. 

Ca.  (to  the  INFORMER).  Ho  you  !  he  is  speaking  to  you. 


380  ARISTOPHANES 

CJir.  Next  take  off  your  shoes. 

Ca.  (to  the  INFORMER).  He  says  all  this  to  you. 

Inf.  Well,  now,  let  any  of  you  that  pleases  come  hither 
against  me. 

Ca.  "Then  I  am  he."  [Seizes  the  INFORMER  and  strips 
him  of  his  cloak  and  shoes. 

Inf.  Ah  me,  miserable  !  I  am  stripped  in  the  day- 
time. 

Ca.  For  you  do  not  hesitate  to  get  a  livelihood  by 
meddling  with  other  people's  business. 

/;//.  (to  his  witness).  Do  you  see  what  he  is  doing  ?  I 
call  you  to  witness  this.  [His  witness  runs  off. 

Chr.  But  the  witness  whom  you  brought  is  running 
away. 

Inf.  Ah  me,  I  have  been  caught  alone. 

Ca.  Do  you  bawl  now  ? 

Inf.  Ah  me,  again  and  again ! 

Ca.  Do  you  (to  the  JUST  MAN)  give  me  your  thread- 
bare cloak,  that  I  may  put  it  on  this  informer. 

J.  M.  Certainly  not ;  for  it  has  been  this  long  while 
consecrated  to  Plutus. 

Ca.  Where,  then,  will  it  be  better  dedicated  than 
around  a  knavish  man  and  house-breaker?  But  Plutus 
it  is  fitting  to  adorn  with  grand  dresses. 

J.  M.  But  what  shall  one  make  of  the  shoes?  tell  me. 

Ca.  These  also  I  will  instantly  nail  fast  to  this  man's 
forehead,  as  if  to  a  wild  olive. 

Inf.  I'll  begone  ;  for  I  perceive  I  am  much  weaker 
than  you.  But  if  I  find  a  comrade,  even  of  fig-tree  wood, 
I  will  to-dav  make  this  powerful  god  give  me  satisfaction, 
because  he  singly  and  alone  is  manifestly  putting  down 
the  democracy,  having  neither  prevailed  upon  the  Senate 
of  the  citizens  nor  the  Assembly. 

J.  M.  Well,  now,  since  you  are  marching  with  my 
panoply  on,  run  to  the  bath,  and  then  stand  there  in  front 
and  warm  yourself.  For  I  also  once  held  this  post. 

\Iixit  INFORMER. 


PLUTUS  381 

Chr.  But  the  bath-man  will  take  and  drag  him  out  of 
doors  ;  for  when  he  has  seen  him  he  will  perceive  that  he 
is  of  that  bad  stamp.  But  let  us  two  go  in,  that  you  may 
offer  up  your  vows  to  the  god. 

{Exeunt  CHREMYLUS  and  JUST  MAX. 

Old  Woman  (entering  and  bearing  some  cakes  on  a  platter]. 
O  dear  old  men,  have  we  really  come  to  the  house  of  this 
new  god,  or  have  we  altogether  missed  the  road  ? 

Cho.  Nay,  know  that  you  have  come  to  the  very  door, 
my  little  girl  ;  for  you  ask  seasonably. 

Old  Worn.  Come,  then,  let  me  summon  some  one  of 
those  within. 

Enter  CHREMYLUS 

Chr.  Certainly  not ;  for  I  myself  have  come  out.  But 
you  must  tell  me  for  what  in  particular  you  have  come. 

Old  Worn.  O  dearest  sir,  I  have  suffered  dreadful  and 
unjust  things :  for  since  what  time  this  god  began  to 
have  the  use  of  his  eyes,  he  has  made  my  life  to  be  in- 
supportable. 

Chr.  What's  the  matter?  I  suppose  you  also  were  an 
informeress  among  women  ? 

Old  Worn.  No,  by  Jupiter,  not  I  ! 

Chr.  Or  did  you  not  drink  in  your  letter,  having  ob- 
tained it  by  lot  ? 

Old  Worn.  You  are  mocking  me  ;  but  I  burn  with  love, 
unhappy  woman. 

Chr.  Will  you  not  then  quickly  tell  me  what  is  your 
love  ? 

Old  Worn.  Hear  then !  I  had  a  dear  youth,  poor,  in- 
deed, but,  for  the  rest,  good-looking,  and  handsome,  and 
good.  For  if  I  wanted  anything,  he  used  to  perform 
everything  for  me  decently  and  well,  while  I  assisted  him 
in  all  his  wants  in  the  same  manner. 

Chr.  But  what  was  it  he  especially  wanted  of  you,  on 
each  occasion? 

Old  Worn.  Not  much  ;  for  he  was  marvellously  respect- 
ful to  me.  But  he  used  to  ask  for  twenty  drachmas  of 


382  ARISTOI'HANF.S 

silver  for  a  mantle,  and  eight,  for  shoes  ;  and  he  used  to 
entreat  me  to  purchase  a  tunic  for  his  sisters,  and  a  little 
mantle  for  his  mother ;  and  he  used  to  beg  for  four  me- 
dimni  of  wheat. 

Chr.  Certainly,  by  Apollo !  this  is  not  much  which  you 
have  mentioned  ;  but  it  is  evident  that  he  respected  you. 

Old  Worn.  And  these,  moreover,  he  said  he  asked  of 
me,  not  on  account  of  lewdness,  but  for  affection,  that 
while  wearing  my  mantle  he  might  think  on  me. 

Chr.  You  describe  a  man  most  marvellously  in  love 
with  you. 

Old  \Voin.  But  the  abominable  fellow  now  no  longer 
has  the  same  mind,  but  has  changed  very  much.  For 
when  I  sent  him  this  cheese-cake  here  and  the  other 
sweetmeats  which  are  upon  the  plate,  and  whispered  that 
1  would  come  in  the  evening — 

Chr.  What  did  he  do  to  you  ?  tell  me. 

Old  Worn.  He  sent  back  to  us  besides  this  milk-cake 
here,  on  condition  that  I  never  came  thither  any  more ; 
and  besides,  in  addition  to  this,  when  sending  it  off  he 
said,  "  Once  in  olden  time  the  Milesians  were  brave." 

Chr.  It  is  evident  that  he  was  not  very  bad  in  his 
character.  So  then,  being  rich,  he  no  longer  takes  pleas- 
ure in  lentil-porridge ;  but  formerly,  through  his  poverty, 
he  used  to  eat  everything  as  a  relish. 

Old  Worn.  And  yet  formerly,  by  the  two  goddesses,  he 
used  always  to  come  to  my  door  every  day. 

Chr.  For  your  burial? 

Old  Worn.  No,  by  Jupiter !  but  merely  through  a  desire 
to  hear  my  voice. 

Chr.  Nay,  rather,  for  the  sake  of  getting  something. 

Old  \Vorn.  And,  by  Jove!  if  he  perceived  me  afflicted, 
he  used  to  call  me  coaxingly  his  little  duck  and  little  dove. 

Chr.  And  then,  perhaps,  he  used  to  ask  you  for  money 
for  shoes. 

Old  Worn.  And  when  any  one  looked  at  me  when  riding 
in  my  carriage  at  the  Great  Mysteries,  I  was  beaten  on 


PLUTUS  383 

account  of  this  the  whole   day  ;  so  very  jealous  was  the 
young  man. 

Chr.  For  he  took  pleasure,  as  it  seems,  in  eating 
alone. 

Old  Worn.  And  he  said  I  had  very  beautiful  hands. 

Chr.  Ay,  whenever  they  offered  twenty  drachmas. 

Old  Worn.  And  he  said  I  smelt  sweet  in  my  skin— 

Chr.  Ay,  like  enough,  by  Jove !  if  you  poured  in  Tha- 
sian  wine  for  him. 

Old  Worn.  And  that  I  had  a  gentle  and  beautiful  look. 

Chr.  The  man  was  no  fool,  but  knew  how  to  devour 
the  substance  of  a  lustful  old  woman. 

Old  Worn.  In  this  therefore,  O  dear  sir,  the  god  does 
not  act  rightly,  who  professes  to  succour  whoever  happen 
to  be  wronged. 

Chr.  Why,  what  must  he  do?  speak,  and  it  shall  be 
done  immediately. 

Old  Worn.  It  is  just,  by  Jove!  to  compel  him  who  has 
been  benefited  by  me  to  benefit  me  in  turn,  for  he  deserves 
to  possess  no  blessing  whatever. 

Chr.  Did  he  not  then  repay  you  every  night  ? 

Old  Worn.  But  he  said  he  would  never  desert  me  while 
I  lived. 

Chr.  Ay,  rightly  ;  but  now  he  thinks  you  no  longer 
alive. 

Old  Worn.  For  I  am  wasting  away  through  grief,  O 
dearest  friend. 

Chr.  No,  but  you  have  rotted  away,  as  it  appears 
to  me. 

Old  Worn.  Indeed,  then,  you  might  draw  me  through 
a  ring. 

Chr.  Yes,  if  the  ring  were  the  hoop  of  a  sieve. 

Old  Worn.  Well,  now,  see !  here's  the  youth  approach- 
ing, whom  I  have  been  accusing  this  long  while  ;  and  he 
seems  to  be  going  to  a  revel. 

Chr.  He  appears  so :  at  least  he  is  certainly  coming 
with  a  chaplet  and  a  torch. 


584  ARISTOPHA 

Enter  a  Youx<;  MAN  with  a  lighted  torch  in  his  hand, 
followed  by  a  band  of  revellers. 

Young  Alan.  I  salute  you. 

Old  Worn,  (to  CIIKEMYLUS).  What  says  he? 

You.  My  ancient  sweetheart,  by  Heaven !  you  have 
quickly  become  gray. 

Old  Worn.  Unhappy  me,  for  the  insult  with  which  I  am 
insulted  ! 

Chr.  He  seems  to  have  seen  you  after  a  long  time. 

Old  Worn.  Since  what  time,  O  most  audacious,  who 
was  at  my  house  yesterday  ? 

Chr.  Then  he  is  affected  in  a  manner  opposite  to  most 
people;  for,  as  it  seems,  he  sees  sharper  when  he's  drunk. 

Old  Worn.  No,  but  he  is  always  saucy  in  his  manners. 

You.  (holding  the  torch  close  to  her  face}.  O  Sea- Posei- 
don and  ye  elderly  gods,  how  many  wrinkles  she  has  in 
her  face ! 

Old  Worn.  Ah  !  ah !  don't  bring  the  torch  near  me  ! 

Chr.  Upon  my  word,  she  says  rightly  ;  for  if  only  a 
single  spark  catch  her,  it  will  burn  her  like  an  old  harvest- 
wreath. 

You.  Will  you  play  with  me  for  a  while  ? 

Old  Worn.  Where,  wretcli  ? 

You.  Here,  having  taken  some  nuts. 

Old  Worn.  What  game? 

You.  How  many  teeth  you  have. 

Chr.  Come,  I  also  will  have  a  guess  ;  for  she  has  three, 
perhaps,  or  four. 

}'<>/(.    Pav  up  !  for  she  carries  only  one  grinder. 

Old  Woui.  Most  audacious  of  men.  vou  don't  appear 
to  me  to  be  in  your  right  senses,  who  make  a  wash-pot  of 
me  in  the  presence  of  so  many  men. 

You.  Upon  my  word,  you'd  be  the  better  lor  it,  if  one 
were  to  wash  you  clean. 

Chr.  Certainly  not,  for  now  she  is  plaving  the  cheat; 
but  if  this  white-lead  shall  be  washed  off,  you'll  see  the 
wrinkles  in  her  face  quite  plain. 


PLUTUS  385 

Old  Worn,  You  don't  appear  to  me  to  be  in  your  right 
senses,  old  man  as  you  are. 

You.  Perhaps,  indeed,  he  is  tempting  you,  and  is  touch- 
ing your  breasts,  fancying  that  he  escapes  my  notice. 

Old  Wont.  No,  by  Venus,  not  mine,  you  abominable 
fellow  ! 

Chr.  No,  by  Hecate !  certainly  not !  for  I  should  be 
mad.  But,  young  man,  I  won't  suffer  you  to  hate  this 
girl. 

You.  Nay,  I  love  her  beyond  measure. 

Chr.  And  yet  she  accuses  you. 

Yon.  What  does  she  accuse  me  of? 

Ckr.  She  says  that  you  are  an  insolent  person,  and 
that  you  tell  her,  "  Once  in  olden  time  the  Milesians  were 
brave." 

Yon.   I  will  not  quarrel  with  you  about  her. 

Chr.   Why  so? 

Yon.  Out  of  respect  for  your  age  ;  for  I  would  never 
have  suffered  another  to  do  so ;  but  now  go  in  peace,  hav- 
ing taken  the  girl  along  with  you. 

Chr.  I  know,  I  know  your  meaning ;  perhaps  you  no 
longer  deign  to  be  with  her. 

Old  Worn.  But  who  is  there  to  permit  him? 

You.  I  would  not  have  to  do  with  one  who  has  been 
embraced  by  thirteen  thousand  years. 

Chr.  But  yet,  since  you  thought  proper  to  drink  the 
wine,  you  must  also  drink  up  the  dregs. 

You.  But  the  dregs  are  altogether  old  and  fusty. 

Chr.  Then  a  straining-cloth  will  cure  all  this. 

You.  Come,  go  within !  for  I  wish  to  go  and  dedicate 
to  the  god  these  chaplets  which  I  have  on. 

Old  Worn.  And  I  also  wish  to  say  something  to  him. 

You.  But  I  will  not  go  in. 

Chr.  Be  of  good  courage,  don't  be  afraid !  for  she 
sha'n't  ravish  you. 

You.  Now  you  say  very  well ;  for  I  have  been  pitching 
her  up  long  enough  already. 
25 


386  ARISTOPHANES 

Old  Worn.  Go  in,  and  I'll  enter  after  you. 

[Exeunt  OLD  WOMAN  and  YOUNG  MAN. 

Chr.  How  forcibly,  O  King  Jove,  the  old  woman  sticks 

to  the  youth  like  a  limpet  !  {Exit  CIIREMVLUS. 

Enter  MERCURY,  who   knocks   at    the   door  and   then   runs 
away,  frightened  at  the  noise  he  has  made 

Cario  (from  within}.  Who's  that  knocking  at  the  door? 
[Comes  out  and  looks  about. ,]  What's  this?  It  appears  to 
be  nobody.  Then  certainly  the  door  shall  suffer  for  creak- 
ing without  cause.  {Retires  again. 

Mer.  (running  out  of  his  hiding-place).  Cario !  You,  I 
say !  stop ! 

Ca  (coming  out  again}.  Hallo,  you  !  Tell  me,  did  you 
knock  at  the  door  so  violently  ? 

Mer.  No,  by  Jove !  but  I  was  going  to ;  and  then  you 
anticipated  me  by  opening  it.  Come,  run  quickly  and 
call  out  your  master,  then  his  wife  and  children,  then  his 
servants,  then  the  dog,  then  yourself,  then  the  sow. 

Ca.  Tell  me,  what's  the  matter? 

Mer.  Jupiter,  you  rascal,  intends  to  mix  you  up  in  the 
same  bowl  and  cast  you  all  together  into  the  Barathrum. 

Ca.  The  tongue  is  given  to  the  herald  of  these  tidings. 
But  on  what  account,  pray,  does  he  purpose  to  do  this 
to  us? 

Mer.  Because  you  have  done  the  most  dreadful  of  all 
deeds.  For  since  what  time  Plutus  began  to  have  the 
use  of  his  eyes  as  before,  no  one  any  longer  offers  to  us 
gods  either  frankincense,  or  laurel,  or  barley-cake,  or  vic- 
tim, or  anything  else. 

Ca.  No,  by  Jupiter!  nor  will  he  offer  them.  For  you 
took  bad  care  of  us  aforetime. 

Mer.  And  for  the  other  gods  I  care  less ;  but  I  am  un- 
done, and  am  ruined. 

Ca.  You're  wise. 

Mer.  For  formerly  I  used  to  enjoy  all  good  things  in 
the  female  innkeepers'  shops  as  soon  as  it  was  morning-, 


PLUTUS  387 

wine-cake,  honey,  dried  figs,  as  many  as  'tis  fitting  that 
Mercury  should  eat;  but  now  I  go  to  bed  hungry  with 
my  legs  lying  up. 

Ca.  Is  it  not  then  with  justice,  who  sometimes  caused 
their  loss,  although  you  enjoyed  such  good  things? 

Mcr.  Ah  me,  miserable !  Ah  me,  for  the  cheese-cake 
that  was  baked  on  the  fourth  day  ! 

Ca.  "  You  long  for  the  absent,  and  call  in  vain." 

Mer.  Ah  me  for  the  ham  which  I  used  to  devour ! 

Ca.  Leap  upon  the  bottle  there  in  the  open. 

Mer.  And  for  the  warm  entrails  which  I  used  to 
devour! 

Ca.  A  pain  about  your  entrails  seems  to  torture  you. 

Mer.  Ah  me,  for  the  cup  that  was  mixed  half-and-half ! 

Ca.  You  can  not  be  too  quick  in  drinking  this  besides 
and  running  away. 

Mer.  Would  you  assist  your  own  friend  in  any  way  ? 

Ca.  Yes ;  if  you  want  any  of  those  things  in  which  I 
am  able  to  assist  you. 

Mer.  If  you  were  to  procure  me  a  well-baked  loaf  and 
give  it  me  to  eat,  and  a  huge  piece  of  meat  from  the  sac- 
rifices you  are  offering  within. 

Ca.  But  there  is  no  carrying  out. 

Mer.  And  yet  whenever  you  stole  any  little  vessel  from 
your  master,  I  always  used  to  cause  you  to  be  undetected. 

Ca.  On  condition  that  you  also  shared  yourself,  you 
house-breaker.  For  a  well-baked  cake  used  to  come  to  you. 

Mer.  And  then  you  used  to  devour  this  yourself. 

Ca.  For  you  had  not  an  equal  share  of  the  blows  with 
me,  whenever  I  was  caught  in  any  knavery. 

Mer.  Don't  bear  malice,  if  you  have  got  possession  of 
Phyle ;  but,  by  the  gods,  receive  me  as  a  fellow-inmate  ! 

Ca.  Then  will  you  abandon  the  gods  and  stay  here? 

Mer.  Yes  ;  for  your  condition  is  much  better. 

Ca.  How  then?  do  you  think  desertion  a  fine  thing? 

Mcr.  Yes;  "  for  his  country  is  every  country,  wherever 
a  man  is  well  off." 


388  ARISTOPHANES 

Ca.  What  use  then  would  you  be  to  us,  if  you  were 
here? 

Mer.  Post  me  beside  the  door  as  turnkey. 

Ca.  As  turnkey  ?  but  we  have  no  need  of  turns. 

Mcr.  As  merchant,  then. 

Ca.  But  we  are  rich  ;  what  need  then  for  us  to  main- 
tain a  huckstering  Mercury? 

Mer.  Well,  as  deceiver,  then. 

Ca.  As  deceiver  ?  By  no  means.  For  we  have  no  need 
of  deception  now,  but  of  simple  manners. 

Mer.  As  conductor,  then. 

Ca.  But  the  god  now  has  the  use  of  his  eyes ;  so  we 
shall  no  longer  want  a  conductor. 

Mcr.  Then  I  will  be  president  of  the  games.  And 
what  further  will  you  say?  For  this  is  most  convenient 
for  Plutus,  to  celebrate  musical  and  gymnastic  contests. 

Ca.  What  a  good  thing  it  is  to  have  many  surnames ! 
for  this  fellow  has  found  out  a  scant  living  for  himself  by 
this  means.  No  wonder  all  the  judges  often  seek  eagerly 
to  be  inscribed  in  many  letters. 

Mcr.  Then  shall  I  go  in  upon  these  terms  ? 

Ca.  Ay,  and  go  yourself  to  the  well  and  wash  the 
puddings,  that  you  may  immediately  be  thought  to  be 
serviceable.  [Exeunt  MKKCI  KY  ami  CARIO, 

Priest  of  Jupiter  (entering  hastily).  Who  can  tell  me  Un- 
certain where  Chremylus  is? 

Enter  CIIKI.MVI.US 

Chr.  What  is  the  matter,  my  good  sir? 

Priest.  Why,  what  else  but  bad  ?  For  since  what  time 
this  I'lutus  began  to  have  the  use  of  his  eyes.  1  perish 
with  hunger.  For  I  have  nothing  to  eat;  and  that,  too, 
though  1  am  the  priest  of  Jupiter  the  Preserver. 

Chr.  Oh  !  by  the  gods,  what  is  the  cause  ? 

Priest.  No  one  deigns  to  sacrifice  any  longer. 

Chr.   ( )n  what  account  ? 

/.-.N/.    lie-cause   they   arc   all    rich.     And   yet,  at   that 


PLUTUS  389 

time,  when  they  had  nothing,  the  one,  a  merchant,  used 
to  come  and  sacrifice  some  victim  for  his  safety  ;  and 
some  other  one,  because  he  had  been  acquitted  on  his 
trial ;  and  some  other  one  used  to  sacrifice  with  favour- 
able omens,  and  invite  me  too,  the  priest.  But  now  not 
even  a  single  person  sacrifices  anything  at  all,  or  enters 
the  temple,  except  it  be  more  than  a  myriad  to  ease  them- 
selves. 

Clir.  Do  you  not,  then,  receive  your  lawful  share  of 
these  ? 

Priest.  Therefore  I  also  am  resolved  to  bid  farewell  to 
Jupiter  the  Preserver  and  stay  here  in  this  place. 

Chr.  Be  of  good  courage  !  for  it  will  be  well,  if  the 
god  please.  For  Jupiter  the  Preserver  is  present  here, 
having  come  of  his  own  accord. 

Priest.  Then  you  tell  me  all  good  news. 

Chr.  We  will  therefore  immediately  establish — but 
stay  here — Plutus  where  he  was  before  established,  al- 
ways guarding  the  inner  cell  of  the  goddess.  But  let 
some  one  give  me  out  here  lighted  torches,  that  you  may 
hold  them  and  go  before  the  god. 

Priest.  Yes,  by  all  means  we  must  do  this. 

Chr.  Call  Plutus  out,  some  of  you. 

Enter  OLD  WOMAN 

Old  Worn.  But  what  am  I  to  do? 

Chr.  Take  the  pots  with  which  we  are  to  establish  the 
god,  and  carry  them  on  your  head  in  a  stately  manner, 
for  you  came  yourself  with  a  party-coloured  dress  on. 

Old  Worn.  But  on  what  account  I  came  ? 

Chr.  All  shall  be  immediately  done  for  you.  For  the 
young  man  shall  come  to  you  in  the  evening. 

Old  Wont.  Well,  by  Jove !  if  indeed  you  promise  me 
that  he  shall  come  to  me,  I'll  carry  the  pots.  [Takes  up 
the  pots  and  puts  tJicm  on  her  head. 

Chr.  (to  the  spectators).  Well,  now,  these  pots  act  very 
differently  from  the  other  pots.  For  in  the  other  pots  the 


390  ARISTOPHANES 

scum  is  on  the  top  ;  but  now  the  pots  are  on  the  top  of 
this  old  woman. 

Cho.  Therefore  'tis  fitting  that  we  delay  no  longer, 
but  go  back  to  the  rear ;  for  we  must  follow  after  these, 
singing.  {Exeunt  omnes. 


(2) 


THE    END 


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